


The road to power is paved with hypocrisy

by dailandin



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Frank Underwood has nothing on Seraphina Picquery, Graves Is a Bit of an Asshole, Graves and Picquery friendship, Graves family - Freeform, Graves gets (further) involved in MACUSA politics, M/M, Politics, Protective Tina Goldstein, Sexual scandal, The House of Cards inspired AU no one asked for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-28
Updated: 2017-07-29
Packaged: 2018-09-20 12:53:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 69,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9491723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dailandin/pseuds/dailandin
Summary: Percival Graves finds his political ambitions threatened whenThe Ghostannounces they have photographical evidence of him having an illicit affair.In an attempt to save his reputation, and her presidential campaign, Seraphina Picquery conceives a cover-up story: the lover in the pictures is actually Graves' fiancée, who he had been keeping secret to avoid too much media attention.Percival and Credence now need to pretend they are engaged and very much in love, as they try to navigate MACUSA politics and their own feelings





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> One of the first things that came after the movie was "what would have happened if someone from MACUSA has spotted Graves and Credence during their meetings?" With all the touching and embracing in hidden backstreets, they probably would assume Director Graves was having an affair with a no-maj. And then the wheels started turning, and this story came out.
> 
> This story is currently unbetaed , if anyone wants to volunteer, just send me a message :)
> 
> The title is taken from a quote from _House of Cards_

“You told me you were clean.”

Seraphina is sitting behind her desk, back straight and hands demurely crossed, one on top of the other, as she stares down her Director of Security, sat across from her.

It is not an uncommon picture. They have sat across from each other, in this same room, countless of times, to discuss every topic imaginable. From high security threats to MACUSA, to the latest piece of gossip making the rounds across Woolworth building. Percival usually feels as comfortable sitting in Seraphina’s visitor chair as he does in his own office. And yet, today, he cannot help but fidget anxiously. The chair suddenly feels too small, the room too hot, and Seraphina’s eyes are as cold as ice.

“When I asked you to run with me as my vice-president, you told me you were clean. That there was nothing Osmander or his lackeys would be able to use against you. ‘I’m Director of Magical Security, Seraphina. I’m cleaner than all those pathetic politicians scurrying around Congress, Seraphina. Pick me, Seraphina. Trust me, Seraphina’. Well, look how good that turned out!”

Percival raises a hand to try and stall Seraphina’s angry speech. “Ser-”

“I’m not finished, Percival.” She snaps. Percival glares at her but brusquely motions for her to continue. He reclines back in his chair as he mentally curses the idiotic ambition that made him decide to get further involved in politics. No one had ever _dared_ to question him as Director of Magical Security. As long as criminals got caught and no-majs were kept unaware of the existence of anything remotely magic, no one had ever cared.

The moment Seraphina had announced he would be running with her in the forthcoming election, his whole career seemed to have come into question. It seemed politics had a way of making all kinds of shit float to the surface.

“This may not have been something you needed to care about as Director. But this is politics, Percival. Our voters may not give a damn about who the Director of Magical Security brings to their bed, but you can bet your ass they will care about their future unmarried Vice-President sleeping around with some mysterious woman!”

Seraphina finishes her tirade by, once again, trusting the latest edition of _New York’s Ghost_ towards Percival. The titular on the front page stares mockingly back at him:

_Director Graves’ Torrid Affair: Sources in Mr. Osmander office claim to be in possession of incriminating pictures of Vice-President Candidate Mr. Percival Graves and a Mysterious Lover._

“Our insider at the _Ghost_ says they will be publishing the pictures tomorrow” Percival turns his attention away from the newspaper and back to Seraphina. She is now sat back tiredly, her massive chair seeming to almost drown her. The anger is gone from her voice and just a monotone weariness remains. “Apparently, they are quite scandalous. Indecent, even. They may need to charm them to avoid upsetting any sensibilities”

“How considerate of them” quips Percival, idly playing with the newspaper’s pages.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were seeing someone?” Seraphina asks tiredly “We could have worked around it, you know. I wouldn’t have kept you from seeing her, Merlin knows it’s about time you start showing interest in someone not involved in criminal activities. We could have told the papers about your relationship-”

“Our _Torrid Affair_ , you mean” interrupts Percival, his finger outlining the words on the paper.

“Percival” When he glances up Seraphina is staring at him, a sad smile on her lips. “Who is this woman? You need to tell me. We can still get ahead of this, but we need to get our story straight. Our team can spin it”

He sighs.

“There is no woman”

“ _Percival -”_ he raises a hand to forestall Seraphina’s angry retort. He takes a deep breath and steels himself.

“My _Mysterious Lover_ is a man.”

“Ah”

“Indeed.”

They stand there, looking at each other, as the truth sits awkwardly between them. Seraphina attempts a reassuring smile, but it comes out feeble and strained. She has never been the sensitive and comforting type. Neither of them are. It is the reason they have always gotten along so well in the first place. Work first, social niceties later, and intimacies, hopefully, never.

“Is there a spin?”

Seraphina startles “Beg your pardon?”

“To the story. Is there a spin, even if my lover is a man?”

“Oh. Yes, sure.” Seraphina straightens up immediately. With the initial surprise done and over with, her brain is already sorting through potential scenarios, trying to determine if Percival’s newly revealed sexual preferences are likely to damage her campaign “It may ruffle a few feathers with some of the old families, sure. Older folks, mostly. And it’s not like we were very popular with them to begin with. Your brother has thankfully ensured there’s a new generation of Graves to pass on the name. No one can object to you finding yourself a nice gentleman to have fun with. As long as he doesn’t have any unfulfilled obligations to his family-”

“He is a no-maj” interrupts Percival.

Seraphina blinks slowly at the new bit of information. Opens her mouth, closes it, screws her eyes tightly shut and takes a deep breath. And then, she explodes.

“A no-maj!? Are you mad?”  
  
“Well, I suspect he may actually be a Squib” He rapidly amends, and then, because he has never believed in delaying uncomfortable situations more than absolutely necessary, he adds “He is twenty four”

“Twenty-? Twenty Four?!” Seraphina screeches, before she seems to remember her position and collects herself. Her fingers steepled in front of her nose, she stares Percival down and repeats “Twenty four. Merlin, Percival. That’s a _kid_  we are talking about. He’s almost half your age”

“Trust me, Seraphina, I’m well aware of that fact”

“Really?” her tone is disbelieving.

“Why do you think I kept it quiet?” He hisses.

“I don’t know why you even started it in the first place!” replies Seraphina, kicking her chair back to pace angrily around the office. “You are a good man, Percival. Admittedly not always the best company, yes, but you are handsome enough that most men would be willing to overlook any personality faults. Merlin’s balls, you are loaded! It cannot have been that hard to find someone, even with your lack of anything resembling a social life. Where did you even find a no-maj, anyway?”

“Work. He’s with the Second Salemers”

“Morgana’s tits”

“Look, Seraphina, this thing it’s- It’s not serious. It was supposed to be just some harmless fun-”

“Do you actually hear yourself? ‘Some harmless fun’. Why couldn’t you just get a good whore, like a normal person, if all you wanted was to scratch an itch?”

“I’m just saying, we can obliviate him. I had Tina fetch him and take him to a secure location the moment the news broke. Just one spell and-”

“And what? It’s bad enough people will think you are some kind of depraved Lothario, I don’t need them thinking you are a callous asshole on top of that.” A pause “You said Auror Goldstein is with him?”

“They should be in a room at the Ansonia, right now”

Seraphina closes her eyes and takes a long breath. “Good. That’s good. We may be able to control the damage yet.” She looks back at him “Do you trust Goldstein?”

Percival thinks back to Tina Goldstein standing in his office three months ago, her auror career hanging on the line, begging him to ‘Please, sir, just make sure the boy is okay.’ Percival knows he could have fired her that day, and she would not have even complained as long as he had promised to check on the boy.

(She kept her job, of course, but that had way less to do with her decision making skills than with Percival trying to cover his own hypocrisy)

“She won’t do anything to hurt the boy” That much he knows for sure. A day before he could have also relied on Tina’s badly disguised hero worship of him, but he has the feeling she will not think so highly of him now. Not after she discovers the nature of his involvement with Credence, anyways.

“How much does she know?”

“Very little. She asked me to look after Credence after that messy affair with the Second Salemers a few months back”

“Her one woman assault. I remember, she ought to have been demoted for that. So you… and the boy…”

“It started then, yes” Percival avoids looking at Seraphina. The back of his neck feels hot with embarrassment. He has always been a private person by nature, having to recount the history of his latest affair to his superior officer is beyond humiliating. He knows how the whole thing looks. Knows he should have ended things the moment the Campaign started. Should not have even started them, as Seraphina pointed out.

And yet.

It had all been so... easy. Credence had been blissfully unaware of everything. MACUSA, Percival’s job, his reputation, the Graves’ nameline… To him Percival had just been a rather wealthy gentleman willing to offer him some much needed comfort. Credence did not demand expensive gifts or political favours, he did not complain if Percival was late or missed one their meetings, he just gratefully took what was offered and gave everything he had back in return.

Percival can readily admit he may have taken more than his fair share. Too blinded by the easy convenience of their arrangement. And now he had brought Credence into the middle of a Wizarding political thunderstorm.

“You mentioned he may be a Squib?” Seraphina questions, cutting short his musings. “Isn’t his mother the actual leader of the Second Salemers?”

“He is adopted. And I couldn’t say for sure. On occasions I could swear there’s a spark in him, but most of the time I can’t really feel anything”

“Have you considered getting him tested?”

“Of course I have” complains Percival. His track record may not be stellar where Credence is concerned, but he still is Director of Magical Security. A potential Squib being left for adoption by a religious fanatic hellbent on exposing their community is not something to ever be taken lightly ”I submitted a request a month ago to the Registry”

“And?” prompts Seraphina.

“And I’m still waiting for the results. You know how things work at the Registry.”

“I will get the request analyzed. We need to know for sure if he is a Squib or a no-maj before we proceed. Here, write down the details of the request” she demands handing Percival a spare scroll and quill. As he starts writing she quickly charms two paper mice and sends them off with a quick wave of her wand. Presumably to summon her crisis cabinet “Now, let me tell you what we’ll do.”

 

***

Here is what they do.

Seraphina’s three advisors show up at her office not five minutes later. They sit down, listen and take notes, as Seraphina briefs them on the situation and outlines the plan of action.

They also silently judge Percival and his life choices from all across the room.

Covignton is promptly dispatched to deal with the Registry and their pathological inability to complete requests in a timely manner. Apparently he knows a witch, who knows a wizard, who knows someone who may be able to get the testing done by midnight.

Villanueva and Bowler are set to write the official statement. Both versions of it.

(“If the boy turns out to be a no-maj, you will admit to a severe lack of judgement” explains Seraphina “Say you were blinded by love, and will break things off to preserve the Statute of Secrecy. The boy will, of course, be obliviated by our best aurors, and you will be properly devastated at the loss of your star-crossed love. All very tragic. Hopefully the tragedy will gain you back some sympathy with the voters.”

“And if the boy turns out to be a Squib?”

“So much better for us. We can play it as a major fault of the previous administration, failing to properly look after a child of magic descent. You will be the heroic rescuer who sensed the boy’s magic and fought to get him reinstated to his rightful place in our world. More romantic, and with a happy ending. The public will eat it up. And it will take the attention away from the more sordid details of the story, and towards Squib protection policies.”)

Finally, Percival and Seraphina are left with the most crucial task: getting Credence’s collaboration.

 

***

 

They owl Tina who agrees to meet with them on the Astonia’s lobby. Her answering note is brief, professional and completely unlike any other note she has ever sent before. Percival can almost feel the disappointment emanating from the words. All sharp, efficient lines, with none of the usual flourishes that use to make their way into Tina’s handwriting.

The knowledge that he has lost Tina’s respect, if not her loyalty, ranks on him. For the first time all day he truly starts to appreciate the impact this scandal will have on his life. He angrily stuffs the note on his coat pocket and stalks towards the apparition point

“I take it your favourite protégé was not too happy to learn you had been sodomizing that poor boy behind her back” questions Seraphina as soon as they both apparate on an alley behind the Astonia.

“Sodo - Merlin, do you need to be so crass?”

“Oh, so now you decide to get all moralistic”

Percival stops walking and turns back to look at his colleague. Seraphina stands her ground, head held high and glaring defiantly at him. There lines around her mouth are pulled tighter than usual. Seraphina has always been better than him at keeping a cold head on any situation, but it seems the events of the day are finally catching up with her as well. It may have been naive of him to think the reveal had not upset her in the slightest.

Percival sighs “There has been no sodomizing” Seraphina arches an eyebrow in response. He coughs awkwardly and elaborates. “That is, I- We- We haven’t- Not that. It’s been mostly…” He makes a quick, abrupt gesture with his hand to demonstrate, too embarrassed to form the words “You know…”

“I Know?” Seraphina’s reply is tinted with amusement. She imitates his gesture, and promptly breaks out laughing. “Merlin’s beard, Percival! Don’t tell me you had an affair with a boy half your age and didn’t even make it past a handjob.”

Percival hunches his shoulders and locks his jaw, looking pointedly at the floor. He can feel his ears burning. He wonders if there will be anything left of his dignity by the time this whole affair is over.

A hand on his shoulder makes him look up again. “Well, now. Let’s go meet this boy of yours.”

 

***

 

Tina is waiting for them in the lobby, as promised. She politely welcomes Seraphina and dispenses with a curt and cold “Sir” for Percival. He tries not to show how much her small dismissal upsets him.

Tina leads them up the elevator and through the elegant corridors of the hotel in complete silence, her steps brisk and purposeful, muffled by the soft carpet.

Percival opens his mouth several times to try an explain his actions, but ends up closing it before any sound can come out. Tina finally stops in front of  a room and  fiddles with the keys to open the door. Once opened, she steps aside and motions for them to go inside. She, very pointedly, does not look at him.

“I’m sorry” Percival hears himself whisper as he hovers at the doorway.

Tina’s jaw clenches in response “What for, sir?”

His mouth opens. Closes again. He tries to catch her gaze, but Tina is resolutely glaring at the carpet.

“For letting his dick do all the thinking” snaps Seraphina as she brushes past them and into the room. Tina’s head snaps up in surprise and she stares at her President scandalized. Percival grits his teeth together and reminds himself that lashing out at Seraphina will not help anything. “Now, do keep up. We have work to do. You can deal with the revelation that Graves is not, in fact, made from Justice and Righteousness on your own time.”

“Yes, Ma’am” replies Tina as she scurries into the room, softly calling out for Credence and letting him know Mr. Graves and a very important visitor have arrived. Percival closes the door and follows in after her, only stopping to throw a very ineffectual glare in Seraphina’s direction.

Credence is sitting in a plush chair in one corner of the room. His hair looks freshly washed for once, and his face is flushed pink from warmth. He is wearing no-maj pajamas and drowning in a thick dressing robe. Probably Tina’s work.

His face lights up like a fucking Christmas tree when he spots Percival standing in the doorway.

“Credence” salutes Percival, as he sits down in an armchair opposite him “I’m very sorry for all this… hassle. As Miss Goldstein may have told you something… unexpected came up”

“She told me we had to wait for you here” murmurs Credence. He smiles timidly at Percival, while darting nervous glances at Seraphina, who has been hanging back and is currently examining a no-maj lamp with an appraising eye. “Ms. Goldstein has been very nice to me.” declares Credence, voice tinged with the wonder, as if baffled by the fact “We ordered pancakes for lunch and she got me these clothes”

He shots a quick, awkward smile at Tina who eagerly returns a warm one of her own, before she immediately goes back to glaring holes at Percival’s head.

“Good, that’s... good” Percival looks down at his hands, unsure of how to proceed. Credence’s knowledge of the Wizarding World and Percival’s own role within it is spotty at best. During their whole affair Percival had been either too mindful of Rappaport’s Law or too horny to indulge Credence’s curiosity about all things magical.

He does not even know how to begin explaining the whole mess to him.

“Now, about the reason Tina brought you here… Something happened. And I’ll need your help to deal with it”

“My help?” questions Credence. “I don’t understand… is it something to do with Ma?”

“No, no, nothing to do with that woman. This is slightly more… personal”

“We need you to become Percival’s fiancée” interrupts Seraphina from the back of the room.

“F-fiancée?” squawks Credence, his face going an alarming shade of red.

“ _Fiancée?!”_ shrieks Tina, raising her wand and moving to stand between Credence and her superior officers.

Percival pinches his brow.

“There’s been a leak on the press” continues Seraphina ignoring both Credence’s embarrassed meltdown and Tina’s angry huff. “Photos of sexual nature involving you and Mr. Graves.”

Credence goes from red to white, and right back to red in an instant. Fear and embarrassment chasing themselves across his face. He opens and closes his mouth several times, no sound coming out. Finally, embarrassment seems to win out and he curls into himself, hands over his eyes, head between raised knees, and lets out a sound like that of a dying animal.

Tina, in the meantime, seems to be seconds away from cursing him and earning herself a one-way ticket to unemployment.

“Any other time, I would let Percival deal with the mess on his own.” explains Seraphina, moving to stand at Percival’s back and fixing him with a very pointed glare “But it’s an election year and I made the regrettable choice of picking him as my future Vice-President, so now his reputation is tied up with mine. Seeing how I have absolutely no intention of losing this election, I’m left with no alternative but to fix this.”

“A secret engagement is the best solution we could come up with in such short notice. It will lessen the scandalous nature of the pictures and may help us on the long run by softening Percival’s image. Once the election is over we can arrange a discreet and amicable break up. What do you say, Mr. Barebone, will you help us?”

Credence raises his head from between his knees and looks and Seraphina from beneath messy bangs. “I-I don’t… I can’t-” he darts a quick glance back at Percival “I’m a man”

“Obviously. I don’t see what that has to do with anything” comments Seraphina before turning an inquisitive eye on Percival “Is that a no-maj thing? Men cannot marry?”

“It-it’s wrong” whispers Credence, curling back into himself with a familiar anguished expression “Two men cannot lay together, it’s a Sin. Ma says so”

“Well, that just doesn’t make sense, and it’s not like it stopped you until now.” answers Seraphina dismissively, causing Credence’s shoulders to slope down even further at the accusation. She continues in a more reassuring tone “I assure you there is nothing wrong or sinful about men being together. The only problem magic folk would have is the lack of descendants, but knowing Percival it’s not like that was on the books anyway.”

Credence shakes his head.

“Ma won’t let me.” He insists.

“She doesn’t need to know” Percival reassures him. “We can erase her memories, like we did after Tina’s intervention. She won’t ever remember you. And after, you will be able to start anew, wherever you want.”

“What about Rappaport’s Law?” blurts Tina. “Have you two given any thought on how to deal with that? Fiancée of Mr.Graves or not, Credence is still a no-maj”

“We suspect he may actually be a Squib” rebates Seraphina. “One of my assistants will be over shortly with the final testing results”

“A Squib?” asks Credence.

“Non-magical person born from magical parents. We suspect your original parents may have been wizards” explains Percival “Squibs cannot do any magic, but they are still accepted as part of the Magical Community”

“I could live in your world?” asks Credence in trepidation, a tenuous hope shining in his eyes. His gaze flicks wildly through all the wizards in the room, seeking a confirmation on which to anchor his hopes.

Percival is about to reply when there is a knock on the door. He looks at Seraphina, who nods back at him: Covington has arrived with the testing results. He waves his hand and the door opens, letting in a harried looking Covington.

“I’m so sorry about the delay, Madame President!” exclaims the man as he fully comes into the room. He is haphazardly clutching a stack of crumpled papers to his chest, his tie is halfway undone and he looks positively stressed. Percival raises his eyebrows in a silent question. Covington quickly nods at him “Director Graves. Miss Goldstein…?” He trails off at spotting Tina and Credence, staring confusedly at them.

“The results, Covington, if you please” demands Seraphina.

Covington throws one last nervous glance at Credence and Tina, and hands over his paper stack to to the President.

“We cross checked all records of wizarding children on the age gap specified by Director Graves, but were unable to find any matches”

“Are you sure?” questions Percival, standing up from his chair in front of Credence to come and look over Seraphina’s shoulder as she browses through the testing results “Did you try extending the age gap? The orphanage’s assessment of his age may not have been accurate-”

“We did that, Director” brusquely interrupts Covington, clearly miffed at having his research skills brought into question. He readjusts his glasses, before continuing “We also checked immigration records and consulted with Wilkinson Hospital on any potential illegitimate births around those dates. No results on either side. I can say with almost one hundred percent accuracy that Credence Barebone was not born from magical parents.”

Percival looks back at Credence just in time to see the brief shine of hope sputter and die in his eyes. He doesn’t cry or protest, simply hangs his head and draws further into himself, clearly too used to having his hopes crushed to be too bothered by another broken dream.

Percival just offered Credence his greatest dream, all wrapped up in a pretty bow and ready to go, only to take it all away an instant later. He feels like the world’s biggest asshole.

Tina obviously shares his opinion, if the white knuckled grip she has on her wand is any indication. Percival discreetly reaches for his own wand.

“We still ran the test on the blood samples Director Graves had provided” continues Covington, somehow oblivious to the raising tension on the room “I was a bit skeptical about getting anything out of them, since they are not as reliable with Squibs. And, of course, the samples we had were a bit dated. So, imagine my surprise when the test came back positive! I had the technician run it two more times, for safety, but there’s absolutely no doubt: full positive.”

“Meaning…?” prompts Graves.

“Meaning the boy is a wizard, of course. A no-maj born wizard, most likely. Now, I’m not sure how he wasn’t detected by MACUSA, or Ilvermorny, before but-” Covington drones on, but Percival stops listening, too shocked by the revelation to pay attention.

A wizard.

Credence Barebone, a wizard.

How could he have not noticed? After all the time spent with the boy, has he been so blinded by his own selfish desires that he failed to properly recognise any signs of magic? But then again, neither did Tina, or Ilvermorny or anyone else in MACUSA, for that matter.

He shares a baffled look with Tina, who looks as rattled by the news as he feels, before they both turn to look at Credence.

Credence who appears to not have moved a single muscle since the reveal. He is still sitting in the chair, head hung low and body curved into himself. He slowly raises his head and looks back at Percival, lips trembling with silent words that cannot seem to make it pass his throat.

Percival makes as if to take a step towards him, when Credence’s eyes roll back into his head and he awkwardly faints into the chair, long limbs sprawled gracelessly over the armrests and the floor.

Tina is the first to react, rushing to Credence side to check his pulse and lightly pat his cheek. Credence’s head lazily rolls to the side. “He’s fainted, poor thing!” she exclaims. She hovers nervously next to the chair for a moment, before she starts trying to re-arrange Credence into a more comfortable position, all the while muttering softly under her breath.

Percival snaps himself out of his shocked stupor and heads over, gently pushing Tina aside and scooping Credence up in his arms. He crosses the room in three purposeful strides and carefully deposits Credence down on the bed, arranging him so he lays flat and covering him with the blankets.

“I feel so stupid for not noticing” laments Tina, as she anxiously frets over Credence unconscious form, tucking the blankets ups to his chin “I spent weeks watching the Second Salemers, I don’t understand how I could miss something like that. A wizard!”

“I thought he was a merely a Squib” Percival reminds her. “And I dare say I spend more time with him and in certainly… closer quarters”

Tina snorts in response. “What a fine pair of Aurors we make”

“MACUSA’s finest, indeed” interrupts Seraphina from the back of the room, sarcasm dry and cutting on her voice. “Fortunately for all of us your lack of perception is greatly surpassed by the Registry and Ilvermorny’s absolute incompetence.”

“We still should have known” argues Tina “We failed Credence in the worst possible way”

“Not at all, Auror Goldstein. You saved Credence. You protected him when he accidentally manifested magic in front of his no-maj mother, and dutifully reported the fact to Director Graves”

“That’s not- It did not happen like that” protests Tina who had not only knowingly violated the Statute of Secrecy, to protect who she thought was a no-maj, but had also had to be dragged, kicking and screaming, into Graves' office to confess. 

“Now it is” corrects her Seraphina.”You identified the boy as a wizard and reported it to Director Graves who, upon confirmation of the boy’s magic, started introducing him to the Wizarding community and fell madly in love with him in the process”

Tina looks as if she wants to protest, but clearly thinks better of it and just silently mouths the words ‘fell madly in love’, disbelief clear on her face.

Percival would be be offended at her incredulity, if the thought of being ‘madly in love’ with anyone didn’t make him want to grind his teeth together.

“Director Graves got engaged to Mr. Barebone in secret and kept their relationship from all papers to avoid overwhelming his beloved fiancée.” continues Seraphina “He was planning to make it public once things settled down after the election, of course”

“Of course” agrees Percival, because what else is there left to do?

“It is quite unfortunate how Mr. Osmander’s hunger for power caused those scandalous photos to be taken” adds Covington, shaking his head in disbelief “Exposing poor Mr. Barebone to the scrutiny of the Wizarding community so soon after finally leaving his abusive no-maj home.”

“Tragic, indeed” responds Seraphina “Of course now that the story is public I will have no choice, as president of MACUSA, but to remove the people responsible for Mr.Barebone’s unfortunate situation from their offices. The matter would have been handled more discreetly if all had gone according to plan, but…”

“Now that the story is public, the involved parties must take responsibility” declares Covington.

“John Hopkirk, Head of Registry, to begin with. He is close to Osmander if my memory serves me well.”

“Amanda Potts, from Ilvermorny’s Admissions Department. She has held the position for decades, and although she hasn’t expressed any clear political preferences, we can all agree Willem Harrow would do a much better job.”

The exchange goes on for a while. Seraphina and Covington systematically picking each and every person potentially involved in the mess, no matter how indirectly, and analyzing the benefits that keeping them in their position or not would have on the future elections.

Percival sits himself down on the bed, next to Credence sleeping form. He knows he should at least try to contribute something to the conversation, as future Vice-President and main person responsible for the whole mess, but he is too tired to participate in Seraphina’s political ploys.

Out of the corner of his eye he can see Tina gape at Seraphina, horrified. She looks like a little kid who just woke up Christmas morning to find all presents gone and be told Santa Claus is nothing but a lie. She obviously was not aware of their dear President’s ruthlessness when it comes to politics.

Coupled with her earlier discovery about Percival’s own loose morals, the poor girl is probably getting the disenchantment of a lifetime. Percival feels bad for her. It is never easy seeing your heroes fall from their pedestals. And the pedestals Tina had built for Seraphina and himself had been quite high.

He glances at Credence and wonders how long it will be before he also starts to see the faults and cracks in him. How long before he tires of having to spend time with him, out of the bed of a sumptuous hotel room. How long before he discovers Percival is not nearly half as charming as he pretended to be to get him in bed. How long before all his faults are laid bare and Credence realises he deserves better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a slow writer, so don't expect weekly updates. I have the outline for the fic done, and I'm determined to finish it, but I'm afraid churning out weekly chapters is beyond my capabilities.
> 
> All feedback is greatly appreciated and fantastic motivation :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... here's the second chapter. Thanks everyone who left Kudos and commented, your support has been invaluable in motivating myself to write.
> 
> This chapter is from Credence's POV (poor boy did little else than be scared and faint in the first one, now he gets to play a more active part). My plan was to alternate between Graves and Credence, but this second chapter got away from me and grew into a monstruous behemoth of a thing, so I had to split it into two, to cover all the plot points I wanted. Good news is Chapter 3 should be up some time next week.
> 
> My work is currently unbetaed. If anyone wants to volunteer for the job, feel free to message me on [tumblr](http://dailandin.tumblr.com/)

**Excerpt from “The Wizarding Affairs Radio Show. Hosted by: Wilfur Pemblebee”**

_“-I think the question here is: how much impact will these photos have on Picquery’s Campaign?”_

_“My dear Wilfur, it’s honestly hard to say. Yesterday, when The Ghost first teased the pictures, I truly believed that was the end for Picquery and Graves. However, the statement released by the Director’s office last evening completely changes the game.”_

_“How so?”_

_“Well, before the statement was released, Director Graves was facing the Sex Scandal of the Century. A major MACUSA executive, running for office, having an affair with a lover half his age in expensive No-maj hotels. The Press would have had a field day with that.”_

_“And now? Do you really think the released statement changes things that much? Especially now, when the photos have been published by The Ghost, as well?”_

_“As I said, it changes everything. The unnamed lover has turned out to be Director Graves’ fiancée, and not only that, but the reason for the secrecy surrounding their relationship is a massive failing of previous MACUSA administrations. Graves has gone from Despicable Rogue to Virtuous Hero in the space of a single night.”_

_“The matter of his fiancée’s age still remains though, as well as the fact that he is a man. One would argue that will hurt his chances as much as the affair would. Not to mention the photos. It’s one thing to know the Director of Magical Security is happily engaged, another is to have the evidence so crudely presented.”_

_“I don’t think the age will be a problem. Former Prresident Harkaway’s wife was eighteen years younger than him, and they married when the president was already on the wrong side of fifty. No one batted an eye at that. Let’s also not forget that, although Graves has sixteen years on his fiancée, he is barely forty himself. And quite a handsome chap at that, something that, unfortunately, cannot be said for our dear ex-President Harkaway.”_

_“Maybe so. Still, I feel like maintaining Graves as her Vice-Presidential candidate will hurt Picquery’s chances at re-election. Wouldn’t it be better for her to choose a less controversial running partner? Vice-President Moolford has had very good approval ratings this term.”_

_“But he has done nothing to support the President. Moolford’s appointment was necessary four years ago, when many doubted President Picquery’s ability to successfully run MACUSA due to her relative youth. His experience balanced Picquery’s age in many voters’ minds. Picquery has now sufficiently proved herself to be a reliable and capable leader, and she has done so with Graves as her right hand man.”_

_“Indeed, one could argue that Graves has been pulling double duty as Director of Magical Security and the President’s strong man in Congress for four years now.”_

_“Exactly. Becoming Vice-President will merely give him institutional validation for a role he already fulfills. This whole affair may damage his personal image with some voters, but at the end of the day, I believe his stellar record as Director, his expertise in dealing with Congress, and the Graves family name will weight in his favour”_

***

Credence feels like he is in a dream.

From the moment he woke up on the Ansonia’s deliciously decadent bed, mind still reeling from the revelations of the previous night, his whole life feels like something taken out from one of those novels Ma had always warned him about. The ones that happen in faraway lands, where magic is good and happy endings abound.

(Not that Credence knows much about those novels, of course. His hands still bear the scars from that time Ma caught him and Chastity curiously browsing through a discarded copy of the _Wizard of Oz_ )

He barely remembers the first day of his new life, it all blurs together in a mix of amazed wonder and paralyzing shock. He knows Mr. Graves came to pick him up from the Ansonia Hotel, and he distantly remembers being gently guided into a sleek black auto, Miss Goldstein sitting tensely next to him.

He does not remember the drive, a fact that he now deeply regrets, or his first impression of Graves Manor. He only absently remembers thinking how the house made the Second Salemers church look like a garden shed in comparison, before Mr. Graves graved his arm and half dragged him inside.

He does remember being given a tour of the house, Mr. Graves pointing out all the different rooms with a tired and monotone voice, and intercepted comments to “never touch this” or “do not ever go there”. Not that Credence would have dared to touch any of the magical looking artifacts dotted around the house. Even now, after weeks of living in the Manor, he still hesitates when using the more basic appliances.

He remembers being introduced to Mr. Graves’ house elf, Helga, a bizarre looking creature with massive ears and a pipsqueak voice, who promptly started berating Mr. Graves for bringing guests to the house without proper notice. Credence had blatantly stared at her, knowing he was probably being very rude, but still too shocked by her mere existence to care much about proper behavior.

By the end of the day, Helga’s existence turned out to be far from the most shocking thing he saw on the house. Portraits talked, food appeared on the table if you just politely asked for it, and his mirror not only could talk, but also seemed to have quite strong opinions about his haircut, and no compunction with sharing them with the rest of the room, loudly. After all that, Credence figured, a magical servant was only to be expected.

In fact, that has been his approach to most things magical since. The dishes levitate out of the table and start washing themselves on the sink? Very practical, nothing to worry about. Mr. Graves owns a massive, ill-tempered owl who apparently doubles as a house pet and mail service? Why not. Miss Goldstein suddenly walks out of the fireplace (whose flames have also turned suspiciously green)? Credence barely raises his eyes from the book he is currently reading to say hello.

When he is introduced to Queenie Goldstein, his new magic tutor, and told she can read minds, he does not even bat an eye before responding “Is that so? How nice.”

Later, Miss Goldstein, Please-Call-Me-Tina, tells him most wizards are usually intimidated when they learn of Miss Queenie’s legilimency, and thanks him for his accepting response. Credence gracefully accepts Miss Goldstein’s compliment, although he privately thinks that by this point he would not have been surprised by anything less than a real, twelve foot, fire-breathing dragon showing up on the living room. Queenie Goldstein, despite her outrageous good looks and apparent mind-reading skills, looks almost boringly plain next to Helga, a magical servant from a completely different _species._

***

Credence spends most of his time with the Goldstein sisters. Miss Tina was assigned to be his bodyguard by Mr. Graves the same day they arrived on the house. Her sister was brought in not two days later, on Tina’s recommendation, since her legilimens skills meant trying to keep her out of the loop was an act in futility.

Both sisters have been nothing but kind and patient with Credence. They indulge his curiosity for all things magical, from spells and wands, to everyday things like the owl mail system, the Floo Network or the history of MACUSA. They are also essential in helping supply Credence with all the items and accessories he will need in his new life. Miss Queenie picks and orders a whole new wardrobe for him, luxurious shirts, elegant jackets, and fashionable shoes. After wearing the same old and battered suit for the best part of the past year, Credence is now spoilt for choice. Some days, he even finds his new wardrobe so overwhelming he ends up staring at his closet for hours, until Miss Queenie gently knocks on the door and effortlessly puts together a smart looking outfit for him in seconds.

He barely sees Mr. Graves. He leaves home before dawn and returns well into night time, when Credence is getting ready for bed or already fast asleep.

“Work” is the only answer he offers when questioned.

Credence would be tempted to believe him if the man did not do his damned best to avoid him like the plague the very few times he _is_ in the house. From keeping to his rooms and having his meals brought to his study, to straight out bolting out of whatever room he is in, the moment Credence enters it, with barely a half-mumbled apology.

The only exception is Credence’s wand choosing.

Mr. Graves personally arranges for Mr. Jonker, New York’s most reputable wandmaker, to come to the Manor, and is present for the appointment, looking fixedly at Credence from beneath thick, dark brows, and making continuous comments and suggestions to Mr. Jonker. The constant commentary makes Credence nervous, and he goes through almost two dozen wands without being able to produce as much as a spark of magic.

“You lack intent” declares Mr. Graves as he positions himself behind Credence, one hand on his waist and the other over his, directing the wand’s movements. “The wand is but a catalyst for your magic, a channel. It will obey your commands, if you just want it enough”

Mr. Graves’ chest grazes Credence back, he hand covering his is scorching hot and, as Mr. Graves speaks, his warm breath tickles the short hairs at the back of his neck.

And Credence _wants_.

The next time he waves his wand it explodes in his hand, a thick, black cloud that reduces the wood to nothing but ash and cinders.

“Good, that’s better” murmurs Mr. Graves as he lightly squeezes his waist. The hand helping him maneuver the wand moves from Credence hand to his shoulder in a slow, delicate caress, leaving a trail of goosebumps on its way. Credence chokes back on the sigh the climbs through his throat, his eyelids fluttering for a second “Now, try again.”

The second explosion takes with it half of the rug and an expensive looking tea set.

After the fifth exploding wand, Miss Tina seems to take pity on Credence and very politely, but firmly, orders Mr. Graves out of the room. Mr. Graves startles, his grip on Credence’s waist tightening for a soft, tantalising second, before he quickly backs away. He looks around the room for a second, shakes his head as if he had just been awakened from a dream, and immediately complies without protesting. The moment he leaves the room Credence is able to breath normally again, although his heart still beats a mad pitter patter against his chest for a few more minutes.

It only takes him two more tests to find his wand, after that.

***

For a man who had so easily tempted Credence into entering into an illicit affair, Mr. Graves seems terribly self-conscious about the whole engagement thing. Credence does not know If this is what engaged couples normally behave like, but if it is, he dreads to think what married life will entail. He would much prefer to go back to being Mr. Graves’ lover, dirty alleys and rushed encounters, notwithstanding. Hell, even going back to the early days of their acquaintance would be an improvement on the current situation.

At least Mr. Graves had been willing to speak with him, then.

Granted, at first, it had mostly been just small talk. Inoffensive questions about his day, maybe one or two about Ma and the Cause. But the conversations soon grew longer and longer, and they moved from dark and dirty alleys to richly decorated restaurants. Not that Mr. Graves ever ate anything. Most of the time he seemed content to just sit back and watch as Credence devoured his meal. In time, their meals became punctuated by slow touches and soft whispers, discrete gestures that could easily be discarded as innocent, but that still set Credence’s body aflame.

It all came to a head the day of the éclairs. Mr. Graves had bought them in a French Patisserie, on the Upper East Side, for Credence to enjoy during their coffee date. He clearly remembers Mr. Graves’ hungry gaze on him as he licked the cream from his fingers, remembers the thrill that went through his body at seeing the naked want on the other man’s dark eyes. Next thing he knew Mr. Graves was swiping his thumb over his lips and apparating them to a back alley, éclairs all but forgotten and their coffees, unpaid. Credence had barely had time to compose himself from the dizziness of the apparition, before he was pushed against a wall, Mr. Graves’ mouth scorching hot against his own, his tongue carefully licking away all traces of sugar and cream.

After that, Mr. Graves stopped bothering with restaurants and started meeting him in luxurious hotels.

That had probably been the happiest period in Credence’s wretched existence. He treasures the memories from those precious few weeks and thinks back on them with longing. The quiet talk, too often interrupted by languorous kisses, Mr. Graves strong hands, touching him all over and making him delirious with pleasure, the food, delivered to their room, and usually left untouched at the foot of their sumptuous bed.

***

The day after the wand choosing, buoyed by the excitement of finally having his own wand, and the memory of Mr. Graves hand over his, guiding him through basic wand movements, Credence decides to take action.

Now, he is well aware that Mr. Graves probably never intended to end up engaged to a wretch like himself. He has never had any real hope of their affair amounting to anything else but his own broken heart, after all. Their engagement, and all the things that have come with it, is nothing but a stroke of luck born out of Mr. Graves’ political ambitions and the threat the newspaper’s pictures pose against that.

(He has never seen the pictures himself, of course, but he can still tell just how inappropriate they must be from the way Miss Tina and Miss Queenie blush every time they are mentioned, no matter how vaguely)

Still, Credence muses, there had been something between them, not so long ago. Maybe that something had been nothing but carnal lust. The one Ma used to warn him about, beating the words into his back, and over his buttocks, with unrelenting zeal. But Credence has spent the last month living among witches who, if Ma were to be believed, are the most wicked and sinful of beings. He has discovered he is a witch himself, of all things. So, he concludes, since his soul seems already branded for Hell, like cattle for slaughter, allowing himself to indulge his lustful desires will surely not change much of anything, in the grand scheme of things.

Armed with this new certainty, Credence manages to convince Helga to buy him a whole box of éclairs. The house elf looks suspicious at first, since Credence has never once asked her for anything since his arrival, but a box of éclairs is neither expensive nor specially dangerous to anything but one’s waistline, so she acquiesces to his request easily enough.

That evening he picks out his clothes carefully, combs his hair and patiently waits for Mr. Graves to return, hoping this is not a late night for him.

Luck is on his side, and he hears the now familiar crack of an apparition spell just ten minutes after nine. He hears Helga welcome her Master home and follow Mr. Graves into his study, politely asking him about his day and whether he want his dinner brought to him while working. Credence waits for the house elf to leave, clutching the beautifully decorated patisserie box in his sweaty hands. Once enough time has passed he takes a deep breath, steels himself and heads into the study.

Mr. Graves pauses when he hears him enter. His pen hovers expectantly above an intimidatingly high pile of documents, his eyes tracking Credence as he moves across the room.

“Good Evening, Mr. Graves” Credence greets him, keeping his voice as calm and blasé as possible.

“Credence” responds Mr. Graves tersely, eyes not leaving him, and pen still hovering above the paper. He looks tense, like a caged animal ready to run at any second.

Credence slowly approaches him, holding the box as a peace offering, and carefully placing it on the desk, near Mr. Graves right hand. He holds Mr. Graves gaze the whole time, fearing the man will bolt if he breaks it.

“Helga bought some pastries today. I thought you may enjoy them”

Mr. Graves looks at the box as if it were a bomb about to go off. His eyes switch alarmed between the box, the insane amount documents spread on his desk and Credence himself.

“I’m afraid I’ve never been one for sweets. Feel free to help yourself” He replies in a gruff voice.

“Would you mind terribly if I ate them here?” questions Credence, with his most innocent voice, making his eyes seem as wide as possible, and looking at Mr. Graves from underneath his overgrown fringe. Ma had never been very susceptible to pleading looks and innocent acts, but Credence has had plenty of practice trying to appeal to her almost inexistent motherly instincts. Mr. Graves does not stand a chance.

Mr. Graves looks longingly at the door, and then back to his papers with a weary sigh.

“Sure. Go ahead” he agrees, looking as though he has just swallowed something extremely unpleasant.

Credence give him his sweetest smile and sits himself on the visitors’ chair. He makes a show of opening the box and taking out an éclair, feeling Mr. Graves’ gaze locked on him. Emboldened with the attention, he carefully licks the cream spilling out on the side of the éclair with one long swipe of his tongue. He then raises his eyes, back to Mr. Graves, as he oh, so slowly, sticks half the pastry down his throat.

Mr. Graves lets out a strangled noise, eyes still fixed on Credence and the éclair slowly disappearing through his lips. The pen is now gouging a hole through the documents, Mr. Graves’ grip on it tense and white-knuckled. Credence pushes through the urge to gag as he finishes swallowing the éclair. He licks his fingers clean, one by one, letting his tongue peak out from between his lips.

Mr. Graves audibly swallows. He lowers his eyes back to the papers in front of him, staring at them intently for a brief moment, expression pained, before he takes a deep breath, straightens his back, and goes back to working.

Unwilling to be discouraged, Credence immediately reaches for the second éclair. Mr. Graves tenses, his shoulders hunching up, the strokes of his pen loud and harsh, and his knuckles bone white.

But he does not look up. He keeps resolutely glaring at his blasted documents as Credence works his way through the whole box. Once Mr. Graves reaches the end of the document pile, he hastily stands up, bids Credence a curt and slightly choked “Good Night” and all but runs out of the door.

For all his troubles, Credence ends up alone, in his ensuite bathroom, clutching the lid of the toilet bowl, as Helga berates him for his gluttony and his bathroom mirror runs commentary on his ghastly complexion.

To top things of, Mr. Graves’ avoidance tactics loose all remains of subtlety after that. He does not even bother with apologies anymore before he leaves a room, and one time he even turns halfway through the corridor after spotting Credence walking in his direction.

****

The Éclair Incident, coupled with Mr. Graves’ aggressive avoidance, has an unfortunate impact on Credence spirits. The days seem to stretch on, longer and longer, the Manor seems less grand, less sumptuous, its now familiar corridors and rooms nowhere near as exciting as when he first discovered them. Even magic starts to loose its shine as weels pass.

“Okay, that’s it.” Loudly declares Miss Queenie one sunny afternoon, in the middle of their lesson, making Miss Tina sharply glance up from the newspaper she was reading in the corner of the room “I’m done with all the sulking and wallowing around. I’m sorry, honey, but all this negativity is starting to give me a headache”

“I’m not sulking” argues Credence, shifting in his seat, suddenly uncomfortable with the knowledge that Miss Queenie probably knows everything about his massive failure at getting his own fiancée to even notice his attempts at seduction.

“Yes. Yes you are” insists Miss Queenie, quickly transfiguring a tropical bird back into its original pillow form “A week ago you would have already asked me a thousand questions about this spell, yet today you have barely taken your eyes out of the window”

Credence half shrugs, slightly embarrassed at being called out for lack of attention “Sorry” he apologises, but Miss Queenie carries on, undeterred.

“You spend all day, slouched in this armchair, sighing like regency heroine, and gazing sadly out of the window. Even Tina has noticed!”

“I have?” questions Miss Tina from her corner, but at a pointed look from her sister, she puts on a resolute expression and amends “I mean, of course I have. I’m an auror. We notice things”

Credence raises an eyebrow at that. Unwilling to remind her how she failed to notice any indication of her own boss having an affair for three whole months.

“I think we should have a talk” declares Miss Queenie, sitting herself in the chair next to Credence, and motioning a teapot and cups over with a delicate gesture of her wand. Another flick of the wand and tea is being poured into one of the cups, which then gracefully floats over to Credence. He stubbornly ignores it.

“Do grab the tea, Credence” orders Miss Queenie, as she floats another cup over to Miss Tina who accepts it without questions. “I will not keep this spell going just so you can have yourself a little tantrum”

He grabs the tea.

“That’s more like it” smiles Miss Queenie, grabbing her own cup and lazily lying back on her own armchair. “Now, about your Mr. Graves”

“He is not my Mr. Graves” protests Credence, trying to ignore the warm feeling on his gut at the implied possession. “He has barely talked to me since I moved in”

“Oh, honey. He is just a rather private man, you know. Have you tried talking with him? And I do mean talk, not that silly nonsense with the éclairs”

Credence feels his ears grow hot at the mention of the pastries “I-I haven’t - He’s always avoiding me.”

“Yes, he is rather good at that, I’ve noticed. Any advice Tina?” asks Miss Queenie “He is your boss after all, you probably know him better.”

“Not like _that_!” squawks Miss Tina, going a rather unflattering shade of red.

“Of course, not like _that_ , silly. Still, you see him everyday in the office. Has he never had a sweetheart before? Anyone from your team is sweet on him?”

“Graves?!” Miss Tina looks completely horrified at the possibility “Why would anyone be sweet on _Graves?”_

Miss Queenie pointedly clears her throat and motions towards Credence with her head.

“Right, I mean, you, obviously. Still. It’s _Graves._ He is like, forty. Two months ago I still thought the man was celibate. Why would anyone...” she trails off and stares forlornly at her cup of tea, apparently too baffled by the prospect of anyone managing to find her boss attractive.

“Well, he is a very handsome man, I think” declares Miss Queenie, relaxedly sipping from her own cup.

“You do?!” asks Miss Tina, surprised.

“Sure, he’s not exactly my type, but I can still see the appeal…” she quips, winking at Credence. He smiles bashfully back at her. He can definitely see the appeal as well. “He is quite a hit with the secretary pool, as well, you know. You should hear Mrs. Pendleton's’ thoughts every time she catches him strutting through the office!”

“Ew.”

“Now, Don’t be a child, Tina” chides Miss Queenie, a playful smile on her lips “The only reason you are immune to his charms is because you imprinted on him like a baby duckling your first week out of Auror Academy” she turns to Credence, and adds “Mr. Graves was Senior Auror when Tina joined the force, and he became a bit of a mentor to her, before he was promoted to Director. Tina has always seen him as something of a father figure because of that”

“I have not!” protests Miss Tina vehemently.

“Anyway, as I was saying,” continues Miss Queenie, still addressing Credence, and ignoring her sister’s indignation “Mr. Graves has always had quite a cohort of admirers and potential suitors at MACUSA. He could have had had anyone he wanted. Yes, Teenie, except you. We got that. Point is, honey, he chose you”

Credence would really like to believe Miss Queenie. He would love nothing more than to believe Mr. Graves had specifically chosen him over dozens of more beautiful witches and wizards. Maybe a few months ago he would have, but then again, a few months ago Mr. Graves had been more than willing to take him into his bed while now he barely manages to stay in the same room.

“I was convenient, I guess” he says. Starved for affection as he was under Mary Lou’s roof, it had taken Mr. Graves but a few paid meals and warm words to seduce him. It had taken even less to keep him coming back. Credence had been easy to seduce, easy to love, and easier to leave.

“You were anything _but_ convenient, let me assure you” snorts Miss Tina “Screwing his secretary, like half of MACUSA’s Directors do, would have been convenient. Marrying a pretty and rich witch, to match his name and fortune, would have been convenient. Having an affair with a member of an organisation dedicated to exposing and destroying Wizarding Society is not anyone’s definition of convenient”

“It’s very Romeo and Juliet, I think” Muses Miss Queenie, a dreamy smile on her lips.

“Romeo and Juliet?” asks Credence. The names ring a bell, but he cannot exactly place them.

“It’s a play about star-crossed lovers from rival families. Very romantic.” explains Miss Queenie.

“They all die.” adds Miss Tina in a dry voice, earning herself a glare from her sister. Credence has to hide a smile behind his cup, amused at their antics.

“But that won’t happen to you! You’re no longer with the Second Salemers, after all. No star crossing required. And Mr. Graves is too sensible to make any rash decisions” Miss Queenie rushes to reassure him.

“Aren’t we all here because of Graves’ rash decisions?”

“Teenie, you are really not helping” pouts Miss Queenie “I’m trying to cheer Credence up, and help him get Mr. Graves”

“He doesn’t need to _get_ Graves, Credence could do so much better”

“I like Mr. Graves” declares Credence, just to make his preferences clear, as Miss Tina seems to forget them quite often. Miss Queenie throws a triumphant smile her sister’s way, while Miss Tina boggles at Credence. He blushes and adds softly, by way of explanation “He has a nice smile”

“Graves doesn’t smile” blurts Miss Tina. Credence has to suppress a startled laugh at her alarmed face. “I’ve worked with him for five years, and he hasn’t so much as smirked at anything.”

“Well, he smiles at Credence” interjects Miss Queenie smugly. Credence smiles at her, feeling a new confidence in the knowledge that, if nothing else, he has had the privilege of seeing Mr. Graves smile.

Feeling mischievous he decides to rile up Miss Tina a bit further.

“He used to smile at me all the time. Whenever we were in a hotel, and we got to bed-”

“We don’t need to know that!” shouts Miss Tina half panicked “Do we, Queenie? Should be private, shouldn't it?” she turns to Credence and nervously pats his tight, as if trying to calm down a nervous cat “I believe you about Graves’ smile. No need to get into detail.”

“I told you” whispers Miss Queenie, in between giggles “Father Figure”

Credence snorts to suppress a bout of surprised laughter.

“I told you it’s not like that...” whines Miss Tina, over Miss Queenie’s giggles “I just don’t want to hear about my boss’ sex life! It’s perfectly normal, I think”

“Oh, honey” exclaims Miss Queenie, slightly breathless from her laughter “everyone in MACUSA thinks of nothing _but_ their bosses’ sex life. Graves’ specially.” with another barely suppressed giggle she turns to Credence “Credence, dear, you do need to come and visit me one of these days, you’ll be an instant hit at the watercooler! I assure you most of my coworkers will be most interested in whatever else it is Mr. Graves likes to do in bed.”

“Queenie!!” admonishes Miss Tina, scandalised.

If Ma were here he would no doubt condemn such a lurid topic of conversation and whip Credence’s hands for daring to participate in it. But Credence has not seen Ma in weeks, there are not fresh scars on his hands to serve as a reminder, and Miss Queenie’s delighted laugh is warm and catching. Before he can even question himself he lets out a laugh of his own, and soon enough even Miss Tina is joining in, the three of them bent over the tea table, laughing until tears spill from their eyes and their sides hurt.

The memory of Mr. Graves’ rejection does not hurt so much after that, and Credence throws himself into his magic lessons with renewed enthusiasm. If nothing else, he will get some friends out of the whole ordeal, he guesses.

***

When Mr. Graves returns from work that evening, he summons Credence and both Goldstein sisters to his study.

“Seraphina wants Credence to attend the Fundraising Gala next Friday” he announces as soon as they enter the room. And before Credence can raise any questions, he continues “He will need to get fitted for a Tuxedo right away, and taught the basics of Wizarding protocol. Miss Goldstein, you’ve done a splendid job with Credence’s wardrobe so far, please make the necessary arrangements to get him the proper attire. Tina - I believe you already know the main protocol rules from the Auror Academy, can I trust you with that?”

Miss Tina stands firm, as tall as she is, and nods “You can trust me, Dad”

In the silence that follows, it’s hard to tell who of the two aurors looks more disgruntled by the address. Miss Tina, though, is definitely the most embarrassed. She goes bright red, from her neck to the tips of her ears, and hastingly bumbles out an apology.

“I meant, Sir. You can trust me, _Sir_. I’m so sorry, Da- Sir”

Miss Queenie lets out a very unladylike snort and Mr. Graves looks like he is seriously considering jumping out the window of his own study to get away from the embarrassing situation. Miss Tina beats him to it though, as she all but sprints to the fireplace and, without another word, floos away to the safety of her apartment, in a cloud of cinder and soot.

“I’ll make the arrangements for Credence’s tuxedo fitting, Director. Have a Good Night” smiles Miss Queenie, as she more calmly follows her sister through the Floo.

Mr. Graves is left standing in the study, a shocked expression in his face. Credence is about to ask him more details about the Gala, when Mr. Graves suddenly seems to remember he is meant to be avoiding him, and dashes out of the room as if chased by the Devil himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm must apologise to those of you who were expecting a new chapter full of political maneuvering and backstabbing and, instead, got Credence deep throating an éclair and Tina being an awkward bean. Politics (and Seraphina) make a return on the next chapter. As I mentioned, I had originally planned for them to be on in the same. (The Tina & Graves scene took longer than I had planned, but I HAD to add it. They are the Amy Santiago and Captain Holt of MACUSA to me)
> 
> As always, comments really make my day, so let me know what you think. You can also come talk to me on [tumblr](http://dailandin.tumblr.com/), if you want :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for all your wonderful comments! Here's what was originally meant to be the 2nd half of chapter 2. Basically, where all the plot happens.
> 
> (This is also the fastest chapter update of my life)

Credence is left to try and pry the details about the Gala he is meant to be attending from the Goldsteins. Miss Tina still has trouble meeting his eyes after her flustering slip up with Mr. Graves, so she keeps their lessons frustratingly professional, and floos away the moment she hears Mr. Graves enter the house. Avoidance, Credence muses, seems to be the aurors’ preferred strategy for dealing with things they are uncomfortable with.

Thankfully, Miss Queenie has no such compunctions and spends most of their magic classes filling Credence in on all the High Wizarding Society gossip. By the end of the week, Credence knows more than he would have ever deemed necessary, or proper, about New York’s wizarding upper class.

Miss Queenie also enlists Helga’s help with the tuxedo, getting the house elf to take all of Credence measurements for the tailor, and to make the final adjustments on the tuxedo once it is delivered.

“You look very handsome” comments Miss Queenie as she smooths down the lapels of the jacket. “Very handsome, indeed”

He looks like a scarecrow playing dress up, but he still sends a thankful smile to Miss Queenie for the compliment. She did put all the effort in getting him the best tuxedo possible, after all, it is through no fault of her own that Credence is no match for the elegance and finesse of his own outfit.

“Shush, you” reprimands Miss Queenie, as she lightly squeezes his shoulder “None of that negative thinking, I said you looked good, and I meant it”

“You do clean up surprisingly well” comes a voice from the doorway.

Credence turns abruptly to find himself face to face with President Picquery. It is the first time he has seen her since the night at the Ansonia. Dressed in an elegant royal purple coat, topped with a patterned black and gold headscarf, she looks, if possible, more imposing and terrifying now that she did back then.

Credence swallows the nervous lump around his throat and avoids her eyes, trying to make himself as small as possible to avoid her eagle-sharp gaze.

“Your posture surely needs some work, and the haircut is a true tragedy, but overall I have to say I’m pleasantly surprised. I guess you’ll do”

“Thanks, Madame President” mutters Credence, straightening his back, even if he still keeps his eyes fixed on the carpet.

“I can fix the hair” chimes in Miss Queenie “Now that it’s grown a little bit, it should be a breeze”

President Picquery nods, “Something traditional, if you can. I wouldn’t want him to look any younger than he already is.”

As Credence and Miss Queenie look on, the President proceeds to take off her heavy coat and hand it over to an already waiting Helga, who promptly vanishes it with a sharp click of her spidery fingers. Another click has a teatray come floating from the kitchen. It is loaded with perfectly cut finger sandwiches and delicate looking cookies, sugar, milk, an already steaming teapot, and a full set of cups.

The President calmly sits herself down in one of the armchairs as the teapot pours her a cup.

“Black, no sugar, wasn’t it?” asks Helga graciously.

The President nods and takes the offered cup. “Now, why don’t you go and change into more comfortable clothes while we wait for Percival?”

It takes Credence a few moments to realise she is addressing him. “P-pardon...?”

“As fetching as you look in a tuxedo, we have a long afternoon ahead of us Mr. Barebone. I believe you will be more at ease in your normal clothes.” She stops talking and narrows her eyes at Credence “You do know why I’m here, don’t you?”

Credence wishes he did. He shakes his head.

“You know about the Gala, I assume”

Credence eagerly nods. “Y-yes. Mr. Graves told us about it last week.”

“Has Percival not spoken to you about today’s rehearsal?” questions President Picquery, something like anger coloring her voice.

Credence shakes his head again. “I’m afraid Mr. Graves doesn’t speak much with me.”

“For Merlin’s sake, I didn’t sign up for this” sighs President Picquery “Go on” she tells Credence, waving him away with a quick gesture of her hand “Get changed. I’ll explain once you get back. Hopefully, dear old Percy will have deigned to grace us with his presence by the time you return.”

***

When Credence goes back downstairs, Mr. Graves is sitting in an armchair, staring daggers at President Picquery and resolutely ignoring the cup stubbornly floating right next to his head. Miss Tina is also there, standing next to Miss Queenie, both of them politely pretending to ignore the silent battle of wills between Mr. Graves and the President. There are three new people on the room. One, Credence recognises as the nervous looking man who identified him as a wizard at the Ansonia. The other two, a brown skinned, smiling, plump woman, and a tall, rugged looking man, he does not recognise.

“Mr. Barebone, good of you to join us” salutes the President. She pats the armchair next to her “Have a sit, please”

Credence obeys without question. He throws a cautious look at Mr. Graves, but the man is too fixated glaring at the President to notice.

“Now. As Percival told you, there’s a Fundraiser tomorrow we want you to attend. The attendants are mostly sympathizers for our party, and the few that are not are too well bred to cause a scene. We have assessed it as the best opportunity for you to finally be presented in society as Percival’s fiancée.”

Credence nods to signify his understanding and hide his panic at the idea of being ‘presented’ anywhere.

“It’s been nearly two months since the pictures and, while I’m well aware you needed that time to… adapt to your new situation as a wizard, I’m afraid our voters’ curiosity cannot be contained any longer. Everyone wants to know more about the young wizard who managed to steal Percival’s heart” Mr. Graves snorts loudly at that, but President Picquery ignores him “They want to see the happy couple. Everyone likes a love story with a happy ending, and yours is straight out of a fairytale. A modern day Cinderella.”

Credence has no idea who this ‘Cinderella’ person was, but he hopes their love story had a better happy ending than a fake engagement and and absentee fiancée.

“This session today is to make sure we give the public what they expect: a newly engaged couple, madly in love with each other.”

“And what exactly do you expect us to do, Seraphina?” grumbles Mr. Graves, speaking up for the first time since Credence entered the room “Hold hands and look into each other’s eyes for you to evaluate if we look enough in love?”

“That’s exactly what I’m expecting”

Credence is stunned into silence. The thought of ‘performing’ some kind of bizarre love play for the assortment of strangers sitting in the room fills him with dread. Panic claws its way up his throat and locks his limbs into place. He barely notices Mr. Graves angrily standing up and making his way towards him until a hand lands on his shoulder.

He startles, but Mr. Graves does not seem to notice, still fixated on the President and her assistants. “Up, Credence. Madame President wants a show.”

“Hardly” is her dry response. “I just want to make sure you do not give the press any more reasons to keep prodding on your sex life. Or lack thereof, as it may seem. You do look a little bit tense lately”

Mr. Graves forcefully pulls Credence up from his chair, and he stumbles as he gets to his feet. An arm immediately comes across his shoulders, pulling him tight against Mr. Graves, shoulder to waist. He hunches his shoulders and bows his head, trying to hide the blush he can feel blooming across his face.

“There.” says Mr. Graves “Happy?”

“You are the most awkward couple I’ve ever had the misfortune of laying eyes on.”

Mr. Graves breaths forcefully through his nose, but relaxes the arm around Credence’s shoulders, letting it drop to rest against the small of his back. Credence stands locked into position, not even daring to raise his eyes.

“Mr. Barebone does seem a bit tense” unhelpfully points out President Picquery’s female assistant.

“Credence?” asks Mr. Graves. Credence darts a look at him from beneath his bangs. He looks tired. There are bags under his eyes, and a deep crease where his eyebrows draw together. The hand on his back moves on slow, reassuring circles. “Relax. They may be a bunch of annoying and meddling bastards, but they are on our side. It will all be fine, just, follow my lead”

Credence nods, his throat too tight too speak.

Mr. Graves smiles at him, a small, tired smile, just a point too tight around the corners “Good. Now, chin up” he says, guiding it with his hand “shoulders down” the hand slides through the slope of his shoulders until his is finally standing upright. Like this, he is slightly taller than Mr. Graves. Mr. Graves pats him reassuringly on one shoulder, his other hand stilling against his back. “That’s it”

“Better” declares President Picquery, her assistants nodding in tandem behind her. Miss Queenie smiles reassuringly at Credence, giving him a discreet thumbs up. “Percival, I think you can afford to grab him a bit closer, I doubt he is gonna break.”

Mr. Graves readily complies, pulling Credence closer to him, shoulders touching again. The President then asks them to walk arm-in-arm, to hold hands, to embrace, to whisper in each other’s ear. Each new display is taken apart and analysed by the President and her assistants.

“You’re standing too close, Mr. Barebone, just a half step to the side”

“You look too formal, Percival, why don’t you try and smile a bit?”

“Mr. Barebone, if you don’t stop slouching I’ll hex your spine straight”

“On second thought, Percival, don’t smile. You look terrifying”

“A bit more passion on that embrace? You look like you’re hugging your elderly aunt”

“And for Merlin’s sake, Mr. Barebone, could you please stop calling him ‘Mr. Graves’? This  whole relationship has enough Sugar Daddy vibes as it is”

The session goes on for hours. By the time the President and her assistants leave, the sky has gone pitch black. Credence is so tired he does not even have the energy to be hurt when Mr. Graves (or Percival, as he is now meant to address him) pulls his usual disappearing act and vanishes from the room the moment the guests leave. Exhausted, he drags himself to his own room and collapses on the bed, only bothering to kick of his shoes before he burrows under the cover. He is asleep seconds after.

***

The day of the Gala he wakes up late. It is almost noon by the time he sleepily shuffles into the kitchen, still in pajamas. He is still finishing his breakfast (or lunch, more likely) when Miss Queenie and Helga drag him off to start getting ready.

Helga draws him a luxurious bath, the tub filled with coloured bubbles and aromatic oils. “Master Credence needs to be clean and ready for Master Percival” she declares when questioned, waving away Credence objections about Percival not wanting him like that. Once he finishes, Miss Queenie comes in to cut his hair. Unlike Ma she does not use a bowl or even scissors, she uses her wand to both trim and lengthen his messy strands, leaving him with  soft wavy layers framing his face.

“I could do one of those fashionable cuts the gents are sporting nowadays” murmurs Miss Queenie, fluffing out the ends “But Madame President asked for something traditional, and for a wizard that means long hair.”

“I like it” Credence is quick to assure her. Ma never let his hair grow past his ears. Even Modesty and Chastity had to keep theirs properly braided and pinned up. Long, flowing hair, she said, encouraged sinful desires and vanity. Credence must agree with her on that last bit. This time, when he puts on his tuxedo, he no longer feels like a tramp in stolen fancy clothes. He still looks a bit too awkward, a bit too tense, but the overall impression, he thinks, is much improved.

Of course, his newly found confidence all but vanishes once he catches sight of Percival waiting for him at the end of the entrance staircase. Unlike Credence, he does looks like he was born and bred to wear a tuxedo. The black jacket accentuates the width of his shoulders and the sharp cut of his waist, and the meticulously pressed pants perfectly define his long legs. He looks so effortlessly dapper Credence wants to cry at the unfairness of it all.

Credence is left, once again, feeling woefully inadequate. There is no way anyone will believe their russe, he things worriedly. No matter how much they hold hands, stand just the right distance from each other, or any of the thousand things they practiced. Percival looks like a thousands bucks, impossibly handsome and self-assured, while Credence looks like the poor street rat he is, despite the fancy dress and haircut.

Miss Queenie would look much better on Percival’s arm, reflects Credence as he waves her goodbye and climbs into the backseat of a black auto, next to Percival. She is beautiful, charming and incredibly skilled at magic, everything Percival’s wife should be. A man like him should be married to someone to match his station, someone who does not need to be taught how to behave in society, someone who does not need to be tutored in basic magic like a child, someone who knows how to seduce him and please him in bed. Someone who  is, most definitely, not Credence.

“I’m sorry” he blurts out “That you are stuck with me”

Percival turns to look at him “What are you on about?” he retorts.

“This whole arrangement” elaborates Credence, weakly waving his hand between them “Our engagement. It’s clearly preventing you from finding someone better, more adequate to your status”

“My st- What in Merlin’s name makes you think I want to find anyone else?”

“I’m a terrible fiancée” responds Credence and, really, he does not know why he even needs to explain when it is already so painfully obvious “I know nothing about magic or your world, or even how to properly act in society, really. I’m a massive burden, and someone like Miss Goldstein would be much better suited to the role”

“Tina? Why would you think-? She’s my subordinate, Credence. And I don’t care for her that wa-”

“I meant Miss Queenie.” Interrupts Credence, feeling more and more agitated the more he speaks “She is prettier, and can read minds”

“I barely even know Queenie, and I honestly find her whole mind-reading schtick more than mildly upsetting. And you are not a terrible fiancée. Where did you even get that idea, anyway?” Percival’s voice grows harsh as he speaks and a deep line starts to show between his brows, but Credence is too wrapped up in his panic to notice.

“You can barely stand my presence!” he explodes, voice breaking on the last word “And whatever attraction you felt was obviously a fleeting thing, since you have not so much as looked at me twice since I moved in.”

“I don’t- Credence.” Percival drags a hand through his face and sighs exasperated “You’ve got it wrong” he tries to explain, but Credence is on a roll now, a dam has burst, and with nowhere left for Percival to escape to, he is determined to let it all out.

“You could marry anyone you wanted! Miss Queenie said you have hundreds of suitors back at MACUSA-”

“Doubtful.”

“- she says Mrs. Pendleton has sinful thoughts about you, all the time. -”

“I didn’t need to know _that_. Merlin’s beard, she’s like a hundred!”

“- That all the secretaries would be happy to bed you, if you just asked-”

“That seems like a gross exaggeration.”

“- so you could be engaged to someone much better than me, and I’m the one stopping it from happening, it’s my fault you won’t be able to marry who you want”

“I don’t want to marry at all!” roars Percival, and Credence mouth closes with a snap “I’m well aware I have plenty of prospects available, as you helpfully pointed out. Mamá makes sure to arrange a fucking parade of them every time I visit the Estate. I’m not married because I, quite simply, never wanted to. So stop worrying your pretty little head about how you are destroying my non existent marriage ambitions”

“I understand. I’ll do my best to impose as little as possible” his voice comes out feeble and strained, and he hates it instantly, hates how it takes him back to the church and Mary Lou.

Percival sighs, exasperated “Credence, you are not imposing. _I_ asked _you_ to become engaged, remember?”

“But… You have been avoiding me all this time”

“That was not about you.”

“But, why?” Credence presses.

“Because I did not feel comfortable continuing our previous... _relationship_ under the new circumstances. That was meant to be a distraction _from_ work, from MACUSA, from wizarding and no-maj politics, and from Seraphina’s plots; and with the damn photos it has turned into the complete opposite, my whole office has opinions about our engagement, your case has brought no-maj policies to the forefront of MACUSA politics, and Seraphina seems to have taken residence in my office, crafting one crazy scheme after the other. I’ve always made it a personal policy to keep business as separate from pleasure as possible, so I thought it best to- Are you crying?!”

“No” sobs Credence, fat tears rolling down his cheeks, burning hot with embarrassment and humiliation. It is one thing to know your lover is not as interested in a proper relationship as you are, it is a completely different one to hear it bluntly stated out loud by said lover himself.

Percival crosses his arms and pinches his brow, shoulders tense with annoyance, and exhales loudly. “Can we not do this now? We’re less than three streets away from the Gala” he angrily bites out.

Credence has never seen Percival angry. Miss Tina once told him half the Auror department live their lives in fear of incurring Percival Graves’ wrath, but that image of him seemed so distant from the man he knew, serious and a bit abrupt, yes, but never angry, that Credence had merely laughed at her.

Now, with Percival looking at him from beneath heavy brows, tightly drawn together, dark eyes flashing, and mouth nothing more than a thin line, Credence finally understands what Miss Tina had been talking about. It just makes him cry even harder, sobs wracking his body, even as he tries to swallow them down.

“Morgana’s saggy tits” curses Percival, looking away from Credence and opening the panel separating them from the chauffeur. “Keep driving until I tell you so” he orders, before closing the panel again with a bang. Credence flinches, and then curls into himself when Percival turns his attention back to him.

This is it, he thinks. This is the moment Percival realises Credence is too damaged, too stupid, too _worthless_ , and kicks him back to the street, magic or not.

“P-please, d-don’t kick me out” he pleads, in between histeric hiccups “I-I have nowhere to go. Ma won’t take me back now.”

“Merlin’s balls, Credence, calm down, I’m not kicking you out.” exclaims Percival, increasingly frustrated. He sighs loudly, closing his eyes for a moment, to compose himself. When he looks back at Credence the line between his brows is gone, and he looks more tired than angry “Here” he says, extending a handkerchief to Credence “blow your nose.”

Credence takes the handkerchief with trembling hands. It is silk, smooth as butter, and with Percival’s initials engraved in black thread in one corner. Any other day he would have refused the handkerchief, done his best not to damage it. Today, Percival is behaving like a right ass, so he feels way less concerned about damaging his belongings. He blows his nose. Loudly.

“I’m not kicking you out" repeats Percival, in what he probably thinks is a calm voice, but comes out just a side too severe “Yes, I started our relationship hoping for nothing more than a distraction. Yes, I have no desire to get married, to you or anyone else, for that matter. And, yes, this whole engagement thing was not only unexpected, but also really fucking inconvenient. But that’s in no way your fault. None of it.”

“But I’m-”

“None of it, Credence. I was the one who brought you into this mess, and I should have known better than to think avoiding you would help in any way. Merlin, you are the one saving my ass here! I should be the one begging you not to leave.”

“I don’t have anywhere to go, anyways” he mumbles, crumbling the messy handkerchief in his hands.

“Credence” Percival takes one of his hands between his two larger ones, warm and rough “I’m sorry for how I’ve treated you this past two months. I should have told you my reasons for putting an end to our previous...engagement, and I should have definitely made sure you felt safe in your new situation, especially considering it was my fault you ended there in the first place.” he finishes, a reassuring smile on his lips.

“These have been the best two months of my life” confesses Credence in a whisper, tears burning at the corner of his eyes, and threatening to spill once again. Percival’s smile freezes on his face, his expression pinched. “Miss Tina and Miss Queenie have been good friends to me” and how foreign does that word still feel on his lips. _Friends._ “The Manor is amazing, the food, the clothes,... Magic. I have more than I ever dreamed, I couldn’t possibly deserve it”

“You do, Merlin knows, my dear boy, you do” Percival squeezes his shoulder, his thumb roughly caressing Credence collarbone. Credence manages to muster up a watery smile, the panic from moments earlier slowly fading away with each second Percival looks into his eyes, gaze soft and a sad smile on his lips. “And I’m going to make sure you believe it. Consider it my repayment for rudely ignoring you for weeks.”

“I couldn’t possibly ask you to-” bumbles Credence. He does not want to impose on Percival, not after the other man has just confessed to having no interest in a relationship with him.

Percival shushes him “You’re not asking. I’m offering.” He smiles then, crooked and roguishly handsome, like he used to smile during their clandestine meetings. Credence’s breath catches on his throat. “Let’s make it a deal then, you come with me to this stuffy Gala, smile at the guests and look pretty on my arm, like Seraphina wanted, and tomorrow I’ll take you to Central Park”

“I’ve been to Central Park” protests Credence, trying to fight the smile pulling at his lips and the kindling of hope re-igniting in his chest.

“Not to the wizarding one, you have not. Deal?” he asks offering his hand, eyebrows raised.

“Deal” answers Credence, shaking the offered hand and drying his eyes with the other. Percival smiles winningly back at him before knocking on the chauffeur’s panel again.

“To the Gala, if you please”

***

The Gala, held in a sumptuous building on the Upper West Side, is well underway by the time Credence and Percival finally arrive. The floor is packed with witches and wizards of every age, race and sex; the ceiling and walls are decorated with floating lights, a full suite of instruments play themselves on one end of the room, while trays full of glasses and delicious looking food hover in the air, weaving seamlessly between the guests. Credence, whose only experience with the wizarding world has been Graves Manor and the Goldstein sisters, cannot help but gape openly at the display.

He is so enthralled with the exuberant use of magic, he forgets to move, until he feels Percival push him gently on the back. He immediately drops his gaze to his shoes, embarrassed “I’m sorry” he mumbles, feeling the top of his ears redden.

“Don’t be” replies Percival nonchalantly “Look all you want. This is your world now, you should get to enjoy it”

Credence raises his eyes again, and does his best to straighten his shoulders, even if his blush deepens when he notices the whole room seems to be looking straight at him.

“Ignore them” instructs Percival, as he laces their arms together and starts steering them through the crowd. Dozens of eyes surreptitiously track their every movement, accompanied by a low murmur of frantic whispers. “They’ll get tired of gawking soon enough, and if they don’t, we just need to wait for Seraphina to hit the gigglewater so we can escape back to the Manor”

“Gigglewater?” asks Credence, trying his best to keep his focus on Percival, rather than the other guests, who seem to grow increasingly bold and shameless in their blatant gossip. He could swear there is a lady currently pointing a pair of binoculars at his crotch.

“A wizarding drink, I think the closest no-maj equivalent would be champagne. Seraphina is quite the fan”

“I have never tried champagne” confesses Credence nervously “or any alcoholic drinks”

“Ah, yes, that stupid no-maj prohibition” groans Percival “Best to stick to pumpkin juice for today, then. I don’t think getting drunk on your first Gala would cause the best impression. Seraphina would have my head”

“I have never tried pumpkin juice either”

“Merlin, what have the Goldsteins been teaching you all these weeks, then?” jokes Percival “Here” he says plucking a tall glass filled with a bright orange liquid from one of the floating trays “Give it a try. It’s a classic. Mamá always had a jar of it in the kitchen when I was a kid”

Credence takes the glass with a smile and sips carefully. The drink is unlike anything he has tried before, spiced and sweet, but not overpoweringly so. Credence lick his lips and takes a larger gulp, while Percival hums in amusement and gets a drink for himself, a small glass, half filled with an amber liquid that smokes suspiciously.

Credence is about to ask what that is, when a tall, portly man bustles past the crow and makes their way toward them, a welcoming smile on his face.

“Director Graves!” he booms in a deep, musical voice “So glad you could join us tonight! Madame President assured us you would be attending but, I admit, I was starting to have my doubts”

“I’m a man of my word, Senator Coleridge” politely answers Percival, a light smile on his lips “As is Seraphina. And, of course, there’s no way I would miss this party. Everyone knows you are the best host in New York”

“Flattery will get you everywhere” jokes Senator Coleridge, clearly pleased with the compliment “Now, I’m afraid I have yet to meet this young man of yours everyone is talking about” he says, turning his whole attention to Credence, not even bothering to hide his blatant curiosity. The smile instantly drops from Percival’s lips. Credence nervously clutches his glass with both hands and does his very best to put on a nice smile. He is not entirely sure he succeeds.

“Of course” agrees Percival, clearly reluctant “Please, allow me to introduce my fiancée, Credence Barebone. Credence, _dear_ , meet Senator Efren Coleridge. His are the best parties’ in all of Manhattan”

“It’s such a pleasure to meet you, young man” gushes the Senator, taking one of Credence hands between his own, and shaking it enthusiastically. He leans in closer and whispers, in a conspiratorial tone “The papers have been going wild with your engagement! It’s the talk of the town!”

“The papers should find more important things to write about” dryly interrupts Percival, a dark smile on his lips, sharp as a knife. “After all, it’s not polite to pry into others’ private affairs”

Senator Coleridge backs away as if slapped, quickly letting go of Credence hand, and harrumphing loudly, a slight tinge of embarrassment showing on his checks “Of course, of course. Please, do forgive me, Director. I’ll leave you to to enjoy the party then”

Percival acquises with a condescending nod of his head and a blatantly fake smile. He takes a long sip of his drink as he watches Senator Coleridge humbly back off. An eager crowd of people instantly surrounds the Senator, their loud whispers and badly disguised glances apparent even from the distance.

“Fine politician, terrible gossip” bites out Percival, not even looking at Credence. “Watch yourself or he’ll pull your whole life story from you, before you even notice”

“Yes, Mr. Gra- Percival” agrees Credence, taking a long drink out of his own glass.

Percival nods silently at him, brows lightly furrowed in annoyance at the increasingly loud whispers coming from the gossiping crowd.

“We better go mix and play nice” he sighs, finishing his drink in one long gulp and immediately exchanging it for a new one from a floating tray. He grabs Credence’s hand and pulls  him along “Seraphina has been glaring at me from the other end of the room since we arrived, and Mrs. Clearwater looks about ready to combust from anticipation. Old gossiping hag.”

The minutes that follow are a complete madness of wizards and witches eagerly shaking Credence’s hand, complimenting his hair and his suit, and shamelessly trying to get a juicy piece of gossip to fuel the rumor machine. Whatever fear had prevented them from approaching Percival and him on their arrival seems to vanish the more people they talk to.

After a while, Percival seems to give up on glaring and frowning at every guest, and resigns himself to the cruel monotony of small talk. It is not long before he is pulled in a serious sounding conversation about MACUSA’s international affairs policies with a group of Senators, and Credence is left to stand awkwardly by his side, fruitlessly trying to fend off the never ending flow of curious wizards and witches approaching him.

He patiently waits until the guests start losing interest in him (which happens fast enough, Credence is quite aware he is an incredibly boring gossip subject). When no one notices him, he quietly slips away to the edge of the room. From there he can calmly observe the richly decorated hall and the wizards and witches dancing to the sounds of an animated orchestra. He takes a deep breath, the tension leaving his body as he breaths out. At the other end of the room he can see Percival nodding along to a young wizard, not even noticing Credence has gone. He smiles ruefully to himself as he picks a new glass of pumpkin juice and settles himself against the wall, content to observe and wait until it is time to go.

“Enjoying yourself, Mr. Barebone?” demands a voice to his right, and Credence startles, spilling the pumpkin juice down the front of his tuxedo. He turns, panicked, to find President Picquery glaring at him.

“M-madame President!” he salutes her, somewhat hysterically. He pulls out Percival’s handkerchief and tries to mop away the bright orange stains “I-I d-didn’t see you there.”

The President just glares at him, her mouth turned down in a moe of displeasure. Credence swallows nervously.

“You, um, you look beautiful tonight?”

“Is that a question, Mr. Barebone?” she asks, arching an eyebrow. “Or a compliment?”

“A compliment” Credence hurries to clarify “You look very complimentary- I mean, very beautiful. Madame President. Sir” he awkwardly finishes.

The President narrows her eyes at him for a second. When she pulls out her wand, Credence instinctively closes his eyes, bracing himself for the curse he knows is coming. She will turn me into a toad, he thinks hysterically.

“ _Scourgify_ ” intones the President, and Credence feels a gust of cold air brush his chest. Then, nothing. He cautiously opens one eye to see the President pocketing her wand. Relaxing slightly he opens both and pats at his chest. The pumpkin juice is gone, his tuxedo once again white and pristine.

“Wha-How?” He questions dumbly.

“Cleaning charm” explains President Picquery “Couldn’t let you wander around the party looking like that, could I?”

Credence shakes his head. “Thanks, Madame President”

“You’re welcome. Now, do tell me , Mr. Barebone, how do you find the party?” she questions, her steely gaze pinning him into place.

“It’s a most splendorous party, Madame President. Amazing party. The best I’ve been to” he is quick to assure her. He adds “Not that I’ve been to many, of course…”

“Of course” she nods “And, say, are the food and drinks to your liking?”

“Y-yes, Madame, very good” he replies, wondering where this is going.

She nods, smiling warmly at him “You like the pumpkin juice, I take? You ever had it before?”

“No, Madame. First time. It’s very good” he smiles nervously “Mr. Graves, I mean, Percival. He said you are a fan of gigglewater?”

The smile freezes on the President’s face. “Percival said that, hmm?”

Credence nods. He has the sudden feeling he has just said something he should not have.

“So, Mr. Barebone” continues President Picquery “If the party is so splendorous, and the food and drink are so good, could you please tell me why you are sulking here, in a corner, on your own, instead of being out there, on the arm of your newly engaged fiancée, five times winner of the MACUSA’s Most Eligible Bachelor prize?”

“Winner of the MACUSA’s Most Eligible Bachelor prize?” incredulously parrots Credence “Percival?”

“Yes, I know, I don’t get it either, but apparently he is a hit with the secretaries” huffs the President “But let’s not get distracted. Party, fiancée. You are supposed to be _there_ with _him_ , behaving like adorable turtle doves, not sulking around looking like someone just murdered your puppy”

“I-I’m sorry, Madame President, I-”

“No excuses” she sharply interrupts him. “I don’t care if you are too nervous, or if you just wanted some quiet. I don’t care if it’s Percival’s fault. Which, let’s face it, it probably is. I don’t wanna hear it” Credence nods meekly “What I want is for you to put a nice smile back on your face... That’s it. Now, go out there, and behave like Percival’s devoted, sweet fiancée, who is, for some strange reason, head over heels for him. Understood?”

“Yes, Madame President”

“Good. Now chin up, or I _will_ hex your back straight, young man”

Credence sets off at once, frantically scanning the crowd for Percival. What was he thinking? He berates himself, going off on his own, after all the time the President had spent drilling them on the right ways to appear as a couple. He needs to fix this. He needs to find Percival, and then-

“There you are, _darling”_ exclaims Percival. He is surrounded by a group of elderly witches, all dressed in garishly bright colours, half of them clutching at his jacket. He looks well uncomfortable, smile twitchy, and eyes wide with panic. “These lovely ladies kept asking me about you”

“Ooh, Director, you make us sound like such gossips” croons one of the witches, batting her eyelashes at him.

“Never, Mrs. Clearwater” defends himself Percival, carefully disentangling himself from the group “Now, if you ladies excuse me…”

“Of course, of course” they chorus between giggles, keeping their attention focused on Percival as he crosses the small distance separating him from Credence.

The President’s words ring in his head as he sees Percival approach. _Devoted fiancée. Head over heels._ Right. He needs to do his part, and do it right. Now, on the _how_ to do that...

“Credence-” starts Percival, but does not get further than that, because Credence, acting on nothing but panicked instinct, grabs hims by the lapels of his jacket and kisses him right in the mouth. It is clumsy, and unrefined, their lips mashing together awkwardly, teeth almost clashing. This is not going to help convince anyone, thinks Credence desperately.

And then he feels a hand on his waist, anchoring him, another on jaw, angling his head carefully, as Percival’s lips carefully move against his in a tentative brush. And, oh, just like that, it does not feel so awkward anymore. It feels familiar, and safe, and absolutely-

***

“Perfect” declares President Picquery, satisfied, from her seat at the Manor’s kitchen table. “Absolutely perfect”

She holds the latest edition of the _New York Ghost_ in front of her, showing a photo of Percival and Credence’s kiss from the Gala, under the headline “ _Director Graves and fiancée Credence Barebone, Stars of the Coleridge Gala_ ”. Percival stares sourly back at her, his breakfast still sitting untouched in front of him. Credence, sat between the two, is very decidedly focusing on his food, risking small side glances from time to time.

President Picquery had arrived at Graves Manor, unannounced, less than an hour ago, loaded with all the morning newspapers. She had sat herself at the kitchen table, where Percival and Credence had been just about to start eating breakfast, without as much as an “by your leave”, and started presenting them with publication, after publication, featuring photos of their kiss from the night before.

“What a success” she exclaims, as she stirs her coffee “The press is fully on our side, now. They all love Mr. Barebone. I told you it would help put a face to the name”

“They had a face already” grunts Percival from his end of the table.

“They had a bare arse, Percival, it’s not exactly the same thing” Percival just glares in response. The President sighs before continuing “I believe it’s best to use Mr. Barebone’s popularity to our advantage. Hiding him did the campaign no favours. From now on, I want him to attend all public events you go to.” she then pulls a thick folder out of her bag and turns to Credence “Mr. Barebone, I had Villanueva bring me an updated agenda, which I would like to go through with you today-”

“Can’t do” interrupts Percival, brusquely. The President squints at him “I promised Credence I would take him to Central Park”

The President turns her piercing stare at Credence, and he forcefully swallows his last mouthful.

“I’ve never been” he mumbles “to the magical one. Percival offered to take me” he adds, blushing.

“Oh” says the President, sounding slightly disappointed “Should I alert the reporters? A good picture of you at the Park-”

“Please don’t” interrupts Percival “I’m not in the mood to deal with them this morning”

“Very well then. Mr. Barebone, I’ll have one of my assistants set up an appointment for us to discuss this at a later date” She finishes her coffee in one go and stands up “Or you could both come for dinner at the Penthouse. George would be delighted to meet you. What do you think, Percival?”

“Sure” replies Percival “Have them contact Penny and put it on my calendar”

“Perfect” declares the President. She stuffs the folder back in her bag, and puts on her coat “I’ll take my leave then. Mr. Barebone, I hope you enjoy your walk”

“Have a good day, Madame President” hurriedly answers Credence, just before the President disapparates with a loud crack and Credence is left staring at nothing but an empty chair.

“Merlin’s balls, she likes you!” laughs Percival, breaking the silence left by the President’s departure. Credence would be offended at his disbelieving tone if the thought of the President holding him in anything but contempt was not completely baffling to him as well.

“She does…?” he asks, incredulous.

“Probably more than she currently likes me” responds Percival, a self-deprecating smile on his lips. “Especially after your stellar performance last night”

“About the kiss…” starts Credence, blush returning in full force at the memory of his own forwardness. As brief as it had been, the kiss had been enough to reignite Credence’s hopes about their relationship

“Good thinking” interrupts Percival, before he can even collect his thoughts. “You really sold it there” he adds, clumsily patting him on the shoulder. The little tinder of hope in Credence’s heart putters out and fades away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, I'm afraid next chapter will take a bit longer than this one did, but I'll do my best to have it up before the end of the month (My office is also shipping me off for a month to support another team, so I'll probably be able to get quite a lot of writing done during all those boring afternoons at the hotel)
> 
> Your comments and feedback, quite literally, give me life. You are also more than welcome to come and talk to me on [tumblr](http://dailandin.tumblr.com/)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay on this one and thanks everyone for your continued support. Real life has been chaotic at best this past month, and I barely had any time to write. Much of this chapter was written during early morning flights, while functioning on nothing but coffee and strength of will. 
> 
> Also, after two chapter's of Credence's POV I found it harder than expected to switch back to Percival (and to make him more simpathetic, since a lot of you have mentioned what a colossal dick he's been so far). I don't know how well I succeeded on both accounts, some parts (the beginning, mostly the beginning), I'm not so happy with, and there's still some work to do on Percival's "redemption". Had to stop tinkering with it though, since the word count was (again) getting out of hand, and I did not progress the plot as much as I wanted. I seem incapable of writing a smooth, quick transition from plot point A to B, and end up spending way too much time on small sideplots.
> 
> Anyway, chapter is here. Enjoy and, please, please, let me know what you think! Your comments helped me get through the most frustrating moments and make up my day.

Avoiding Credence had been a dick move. Percival readily admits that. It had been insensitive, cowardly, and just damn disrespectful. It had also, Percival mournfully thinks, involved far less cold showers.

When he had promised Credence he would spend more time with him, he had done so reluctantly. His interest in the boy had always been mostly physical, after all. Even on the early days, he had been more interested on losing himself on the shape and color of his lips, than the actual words coming out of them. They had talked, of course, Credence had always been eager for any scrap of information about the wizarding world he could get, and Percival had not so subtly used him to get first-hand information on the Second Salemers. But those conversations had always been shaded by the attraction of the forbidden, both of them relishing their chance to explore what they had always thought of as taboo. Without that delicious thrill that comes from doing something you should not, or the temptation of sex to smooth things over, Percival had honestly expected to find Credence boring, a simple, sheltered boy, with no depth at all.

Once they get over the initial awkwardness, and Credence stops blushing like a damn tomato every time they so much as brush hands, conversation is easy flowing. Credence is still somewhat sheltered, clearly inexperienced in many areas, and with all the self-esteem of a mouse, but he more than makes up for it with his unending thirst for knowledge and observant, sharp mind.

He has been obviously supplying Goldstein’s lessons with his own complementary readings, and is increasingly able to maintain a conversation on a variety of topics, from MACUSA politics to the exploits of Grindelwald and his court of maniacs back in Europe. He actually seems to have quite a lot to say on that topic, and ends up going on a stuttering rant about the dangers of fanaticism and hate mongering, which skids suspiciously close to his own experience with Mary Lou, although he never explicitly names her, and Percival politely does not ask. By the end of it, he is flushed, cheeks red and eyes bright with passion, and Percival has to restrain himself not to reach across the sofa and kiss him silly.

And here is the tricky part of the equation because, as entertaining as he finds Credence’s company, it would all have been easier if he had been a bore. As it is now, Percival has all but forgotten what a warm shower feels like in his efforts to keep their relationship platonic without going back to his avoidance tactics.

He is suffering from the worst case of blue balls in all of wizarding history, and the worst of it is that Credence is not even attempting to seduce him anymore, Percival’s pre Gala blow up and Seraphina’s invasiveness seemingly having scared him off for good.

(Percival thanks Merlin, Morgana, Arthur and the whole fucking Round Table, for small mercies. He is still having vivid dreams about the Éclair Incident, and now cannot even look at the damn pastries without getting a boner)

The domesticity is the worst of it, though. Percival has always prided himself on his independence, having never felt the need to settle down or get married. He has always kept previous lovers at arms’ length, and promptly broken things off the moment they started mentioning that, maybe, it was time to move in. Yet with Credence, who has slowly invaded every little aspect of his life and is _actually_ living in his home, Percival does not even feel the tiniest bit of annoyance. Even worse, to his startled dismay, he finds he quite likes it.

“I fail to see how that’s a problem” comments Seraphina when he complains to her about it. Percival is laid down on the rich velvet couch she keeps in her office for late nights, arm thrown over his eyes, while Seraphina not so patiently listens as she works her way through a hefty pile of documents.

“Did you not hear a word I said?” demands Percival, angry at her easy dismissal “This is an unbearable situation, Seraphina”

“I heard you, Percival. You’ve been rambling about your mess of a sex life, taking over my couch, and distracting me from my work for an hour. Isn’t this a tad too dramatic, even for you?”

“My balls are going to fall off, any day now” moans Percival.

“Can they fall off in your office? I have work. _You_ have work. In your office”

“Credence is there” explains Percival dragging a hand over his face in frustration “Tina bought him sugar quills, from that new British shop they opened in Dragon Boulevard. It’s torture.” Percival had made it through two minutes of tantalizing, exquisite pain, unwilling to go bad to his old habits. But the sight of Credence’s blood red lips, slightly wet from spit, sucking on the clearly phallic treat, had brought back vivid flashbacks of the Éclair Incident, and Percival had ended up fleeing like a coward.

Seraphina sighs, clearly seeing he will not be moved from the couch “Remind me again why you can’t just screw him and be done with it?”

“I already told you. I don’t want him to get any false expectations about our relationship. It would not be right”

“I wish you had exercised some of this thoughtfulness before you broke the Law and screwed him the first place” tartly replies Seraphina. She puts special emphasis on the word ‘Law’, leaving no doubt it is meant to be in capital letters. The Law.

“I didn’t break the Law” protests Percival “Credence is a wizard”

“A fact you only found out three months ago, after said screwing had already taken place” she points out, voice tinged with growing irritation.

Percival sighs. He had hoped for a bit more understanding from Seraphina. While it is true they had a made it an unspoken promise to never discuss feelings amongst them, he knows for a fact she is not completely alien to the concept. She has a husband, after all. Percival was at the wedding, showing his support, like good friends are supposed to do, despite his aversion to both emotional events and the institution of marriage itself. He feels it relevant to remind Seraphina of that, hoping to awaken some small measure of sympathy.

“You got drunk and slept with the Best Man” she hisses.

“I was basically your Maid of Honor in everything but name, sleeping with the Best Man is practically tradition”

“Percival” Seraphina bites out, curt and sharp, and filled with authority. It is the tone she uses with Congress, when some upstart congressman tries to deviate from the issue at hand to further their own agenda. She is clearly done with the conversation “Fuck the boy, or don’t, your choice. I don’t care either way, as long as the rest of the world thinks you do. Now, if you have no other relevant issues to discuss, I’ll have to kindly ask you to vacate my sofa, go back to your office, and do your damn job. I don’t give a rat’s ass if your fiancée is posing naked over your desk; I pay you to think with your head, not your dick. That’s caused me enough trouble as it is.”

A quick look at her lets Percival know resistance is futile. She has put on the President’s mask, all cultivated authority and carefully arranged impassiveness. He slowly gets up, taking the time to stretch his limbs and smooth away the wrinkles in his suit. He stops as he passes her desk, to offer her a quick, curt nod of apology. She inclines her head in response.

“I’ll see you both on Thursday for dinner” she says, just as Percival is about to turn the handle. “Seven o’clock, sharp.”

Dinner with the Picquerys has become a new staple of Percival’s week. George Picquery took a shine to Credence when he first attended dinner the Black House at Seraphina’s request, and Seraphina happily jumped on the opportunity to poke her nose further into Percival’s private business under the pretense of humoring her husband.

“We’ll be there” he promises Seraphina as he heads back to his office where Credence has, thank Merlin, finished off the bag of sugar quills and is now curled up on the visitors’ armchair, fully immersed in a book about the Third Goblin Wars. Percival breathes a sigh of relief.

***

Just as promised Percival apparates Credence and himself to a back alley behind the Woolworth building at seven o’clock sharp on Thursday. Tipster, Seraphina’s Head house elf, politely welcomes them before rapidly tapping a series of bricks on the building’s wall. As Tipster steps back, the whole wall starts moving, bricks turning and rearranging themselves like cogs on a clock to reveal a small iron door, painted black and engraved with golden runes. The third entrance into the Woolworth building, only known to a select few, is the only one with access to the Penthouse, home to MACUSA’s President and most commonly referred to as the ‘Black House’, in a lazy and unimaginative attempt to parallel its no-maj equivalent.

Once they get off the lift and hand over their coats and scarves to a small army of house elves, they are immediately greeted by an enthusiastic George Picquery’s booming voice and blindingly white smile, while Seraphina lazily lounges on a sofa, a flute of bubbling gigglewater held delicately in her hand.

George is taller than both Percival and Credence, and he positively towers over his wife. His height, along with his sturdy build, would make him quite intimidating were it not for his easy smile and warm disposition. He works as a Healer at Wilkinson Hospital, where he and Seraphina met twenty years ago after she got caught up in a raid gone bad, while working in the MACUSA General Attorney office. Percival, the rookie Auror responsible for the raid’s failure, had ended up in the bed next to her and had been the extremely unwilling testimony of their revoltingly sweet love story, as punishment for his sins.

To this day, he still does not know what prompted George, by all accounts a sensible, affable and kind man, to ask Seraphina on a date. As brilliant as she was, and as much as Percival had always loved her, she had never been the most approachable person, and she was a particularly atrocious patient. Still, ask her he did, and against all expectations Seraphina had not only agreed to the date but also embraced the relationship with a passion unknown in her until then.

(For a brief period of time, her enthusiasm for her new relationship had prompted her to try and find a suitable partner for Percival as well.

“Healers are the way to go” she had firmly told him two months into the relationship, during one of their rare coffee breaks “Demanding careers and unpredictable schedules, but none of the risks of dating an Auror. You should get one”

Percival had ended up sleeping with roughly half the staff at Wilkinson as a result)

No matter how baffling he still finds the continued survival of his and Seraphina’s marriage, Percival gets along well enough with George and usually does not mind spending time with him. Credence thankfully seems to like him as well, and usually looks forwards to the dinners for the chance to pepper the other man with questions about his duties as a Healer and the more technical aspects of healing magic.

Healing, along with Magical Creatures, seem to be Credence’s favorite subjects to study, much to Percival’s chagrin. He has never been overly fond of animals, magical or otherwise, and his Healing skills are only barely passable, the absolute minimum required to pass the Auror exams and avoid bleeding out on the field.

Dinner is, all in all, a pleasant affair. George and Credence discuss some technical sounding Healing theories, while Seraphina and Percival catch each other up on the latest pieces gossip circulating across MACUSA. From time to time, George interrupts with some insight of his own, his confidentiality vows as a Healer conveniently forgotten, and even Credence shyly asks for more details on the most scandalous tales.

Once dinner is done they adjourn to the sitting room for drinks. George immediately fills up two glasses of firewhisky, for Percival and himself, and a flute of gigglewater for Seraphina.

“You sure you don’t want anything, Credence?” questions Seraphina once George hands her a drink.

“I’m fine, thanks” excuses himself Credence, nervously looking at Percival out of the corner of his eye. Percival pretends not to see it as he swirls the firewhisky around on his glass.

“Have you tried gigglewater?” she insists “It’s completely different from no-maj drinks. Much better than the swill they are now selling in their hidden bars and speakeasies”

“I wouldn’t know” comments Credence, a rueful smile on his lips “Ma never let us try any alcohol. She said it poisons the mind and turns men into beasts.”

“You’ve never drank anything?” exclaims George dismayed “Not even a small sip of Mass wine?”

Credence shakes his head and shifts awkwardly in his seat, clearly embarrassed at having his sheltered upbringing brought into the conversation.

“Mercy Lewis” whispers George, disbelief clear in his voice. He then turns his attention to Percival “And you didn’t think to give the poor boy a taste? All these parties you’ve been dragging him to and not a single drink? I would have hanged myself.”

Percival bristles at the accusation “I thought it best for Credence to have all his wits about him when put in a public situation” he replies, a bit harsher than he probably should.

Seraphina snorts indelicately at that “Percival is full of thoughtfulness as of late” she snidely comments to her husband, before turning her attention to Credence “But fortunately today you are amongst friends, my dear. Nothing stopping you from having a nice taste of gigglewater” she imperiously waves a hand at her husband who hurries to comply and fills out a second flute with the frizzly drink, which he immediately hands out to Credence.

“Bottoms up” salutes George raising his own glass and immediately drinking half its contents in one long sip. Credence raises his own glass in response, amused, and takes a careful sip. A high pitched, slightly hysterical giggle escapes him immediately after that, and he slaps a hand over his mouth in alarm.

“Relax” advises Percival “It’s completely normal, most people burst out laughing when they drink gigglewater. Only seasoned drinkers, like Seraphina, manage to avoid the giggles”

When Credence still looks hesitant George takes the flute from his hand and replaces it with a tumbler of firewhisky “Try this one. No involuntary giggles involved, I assure you”

Credence promptly complies and knocks the drink back before Percival has a chance to warn him. No sooner does he put the glass down, that twin thick, white clouds of smoke erupt from his ears, as his face phases through the whole range of the red spectrum.

George claps him in the back laughing “Easy there. Firewhisky is meant to be savored and enjoyed, not swallowed like cheap beer”

“I don’t think there’s anything to savor” mumbles Credence, throwing an accusatory look at the tumbler still in his hand “I can barely feel my tongue now”

“I think firewhisky may be too strong for Credence, George” points out Percival, while eyeing the other man meaningfully. The boy has never even had a drink before, he can hardly be expected to enjoy strong liquor.

“How about some of that no-maj whisky the Minister of Magic gifted to us?” unhelpfully asks Seraphina delicately sipping her drink. Unlike Credence, the gigglewater seems not to phase her at all, failing to cause even as much as a twitch of her lips.

“What a marvelous idea!” exclaims George with his natural exuberance. He takes the tumbler from Credence’s hand and unceremoniously dumps it in the bin. “We’ll find a drink for you, buddy, don’t you worry”

Credence nods nervously, smiling hesitantly. Still, he follows George without any prompting when he goes to the Liquor Cabinet to retrieve the whisky, and eagerly accepts the drink when it’s offered to him, clearly amused by the whole game and stubbornly determined to find himself a drink to enjoy.

Percival eyes them worriedly across the room. He usually encourages Credence’s forays out of his comfort zone, rare as they are, but he cannot help but feel that trying alcoholic drinks is going to be more of a stumble, than a true step towards progress. He opens his mouth to warn George to be careful, but Seraphina cuts him off before he can get a word out.

“Stop worrying, old man, a few drinks are unlikely to cause him any harm, may even help him loosen up a little bit. He always seems so awfully tense, poor boy.”

Percival scowls at her. “He doesn’t need any loosening”

Seraphina smirks, dirty and filled with innuendo “Well, if you say so…”

Percival’s face and neck grow hot at the implication. “Seraphina” he hisses, throwing a quick, worried glance to see if Credence heard anything. He relaxes when he spots him laughing with George at the other end of the room, a different drink in each hand, and surrounded by a collection of brightly colored bottles.

“Or maybe it’s you who needs some loosening up. Merlin, Percival, the whole thing has seemingly turned you into a prude”

“I already told you-“

“You don’t want to hurt his feeling, yes, yes, I know. You spent a whole afternoon moaning about it”

Percival bites back an angry retort, uncomfortable with Seraphina’s careless comments about what he still considers to be his private life, sad, lonely and sexually frustrating as it may be at the moment.

“Jokes aside,” declares Seraphina, sitting up on the sofa and setting aside her now empty flute “the whole charade has been working beautifully, despite whatever frustrations you may have with it. No one questions the authenticity of the relationship. Even George keeps going on and on, on what a wonderful couple you two make. He really likes Credence, and thinks the boy is doing you a world of good. He’ll probably be heartbroken when you split up”

“I still don’t understand why you haven’t told him” protests Percival, already dreading George’s Disappointed face when said split is announced.

“I told you, it’s best to keep the circle small. And George, as much as I love him, is a terrible gossip. The whole of Wilkinson would be in on the secret within a day.” Seraphina explains, something that may be affection coloring her voice “You’ve managed to fool everyone. Not only the Public and the press, but also close friends and colleagues”

“And?” prompts Percival, wondering where she is going with all this.

“And I think it’s time Credence finally meets your family” announces Seraphina without missing a beat.

Percival chokes on his drink.

“What,” teases Seraphina, one regal eyebrow raised in irony “you thought you would be able to parade your new fiancée all across the States and not have him meet the in-laws?”

Percival glares at her “There’s no need-“

“Oh, please” interrupts Seraphina brusquely “There’s every need. Your whole family has been conspicuously absent from all High Society and Campaign events since the engagement was announced. The only reason the Press haven’t cottoned in on that and started running articles about ‘The Great Graves Family Feud’ is because they are still milking Credence’s Cinderella tale for all it’s worth. That will change, as it always does. Do not mistake current approval by loyalty, or even sympathy.”

“I’ll speak with Tristan” he argues “I’ll make sure he attends the next party, wife and kids and all.”

“It won’t be enough. We can’t half ass this, Percival. The only way to make this charade hold until after the Election is by committing to it one hundred percent. Credence is now your fiancée, and the right thing to do, the expected thing to do, is introduce him to your family.”

Percival sighs, looking mournfully at the leftover firewhisky at the bottom of his glass “I don’t like the idea of lying to Mamá and Papá”

“Would you rather tell them the truth?” presses Seraphina, unforgiving “Tell them you were caught with your pants down fucking who you thought was a no-maj boy? Tell them you knowingly violated our Most Sacred Law because you couldn’t resist a nice face? Will you also explain how you are now lying to the whole country about your engagement in order to secure the Vice Presidency?”

She is right, of course. As distasteful as Percival finds the idea of lying to his parents, telling them the truth fills him with the most absolute dread. He knows his personal and professional choices have not always been to his parents’ tastes (his continued bachelorhood is a source of constant grief for poor Mamá, and Papá never quite forgave him for choosing the Auror corps over the family business), but he has always behaved himself in a way befitting the family legacy. Confessing to an extramarital affair with a boy half his age, who he had initially thought was a no-maj, would mean destroying his parent’s trust in him and losing the Graves’ support for his Campaign.

He may be able to regain his parent’s trust in time, but he can’t afford to lose his family’s support, not now, when he’s just recovered from the scandal of _The Ghost_ photos.

“Yeah, thought so” agrees Seraphina, rightfully interpreting his silence as reluctant agreement “There are only some minor Campaign events left in New York, before we go on the Nationwide Trail, and we have a strong lead against Osmander. I can hold down the fort while you pay your due respects to Mr. and Mrs. Graves. We can meet up in Boston, the Ilvermorny Fundraiser would be the perfect scenario for the kickoff of our Campaign Tour and a Graves’ Family Reunion”

“A family reunion?” questions Credence, wandering over on unsteady legs and ungraciously plopping down on the sofa next to Percival. His speech is slurred, his eyes glassy, and his face flushed with color. He is holding a cocktail glass, which spills some of its amber colored contents when he leans to rest his head on Percival’s shoulder. It seems George succeeded in finding Credence a drink he likes after feeding him, what looks like, half the liquor cabinet, Percival thinks annoyed.

Credence notices Percival staring at his drink and, in his blissfully inebriated state, mistakes his annoyance by curiosity. “It’s called _Between the Sheets_ ” he whispers, breath hot and wet on Percival’s ear, in a conspiratory tone that, despite his intent, carries all across the room “George said it’s a no-maj cocktail. So licentious. Ma would not approve”

Percival does not approve either, and hates the fact that he is getting aroused over the drunken ramblings of a church boy who speaks like he has swallowed a fucking dictionary, even when drunk off his tits.

“I’m afraid I let Credence drink a bit more than advised” apologizes George looking contrite.

Percival would like nothing more than to spit out a sarcastic ‘You think?!’, except George is one of these few people gifted with the annoying ability to make any apology look absolutely heartfelt and genuine. He looks at Credence, eyebrows creased in concern, before smiling ruefully at Percival, all charm and honest regret. Beside him, Seraphina eyes Percival over the rim of her gigglewater flute.

Percival bites back his angry retort. Snapping at George would be like kicking a puppy, only to get mauled by its fucking cat best friend.

“No harm done” he says, prying the glass from Credence’s fingers, despite the boy’s protests “Although I think it’s best if we call it a night. I need to get him-“

“ _Between the Sheets!”_ interrupts Credence, before breaking into a fit of giggles and leaning further into Percival’s side, boneless save for the small bursts of laughter that shake his body.

Percival can feel his neck and ears burn with embarrassment, whether from the physical contact or the innuendo, he is not able to say. “Home. I need to get him home and give him some water to drink”

“Of course” agrees Seraphina, doing nothing to hide her amusement as Percival maneuvers an unsteady Credence on his feet “I trust you will make the necessary arrangements concerning what we talked about” It is not a question.

“I will send an owl first thing tomorrow morning” promises Percival, hooking an arm around Credence’s waist and steering him towards the foyer entrance, doing his best to ignore the string of nonsensical words murmured against his neck, sending tingles of pleasure running down his back.

***

Credence’s state means apparating home is out of the question, unless Percival wants to risk getting puke all over his shoes, so he is forced to summon a maj-cab.

As the lights of the city flash them by Percival reflects on the best way to approach his parents while Credence quietly snoozes against his shoulder. They will surely be angry and offended at having been kept in the dark and ignored for so long. Mamá will undoubtedly be sad about the lack of opportunity for grandchildren. Papá will most likely focus on the damage the scandal has caused to the Graves name. Fooling them will not be as easy as fooling MACUSA and the Press. Unlike journalists, sympathizers, and MACUSA employees, Mamá and Papá have known him since he was born and, subsequently, are unlikely to fall for empty gestures and token words of affection.

He is so caught up in his thoughts he does not notice Credence’s hand moving surreptitiously up his tight, touch light yet filled with intent, until it grabs at his crotch.

Percival jumps a foot in the air with surprise. “Morgana’s tits!” he shouts, blindingly grabbing Credence’s hands to pull them far, far away from his private parts. “What in Merlin’s name are you doing?!” he asks in a rushed panic as Credence decides to start nuzzling his neck, cold nose a stark contrast to the warmth of his lips where they drag over Percival’s heated skin.

“We could be having so much sex” Credence whines, words slurred against the flushed skin of his neck.

“Mercy fucking Lewis.” Percival redoubles his efforts to disentangle himself from Credence, who seems to have gained an extra pair of limbs, in compensation for his complete loss of inhibitions.

“You used to like this” pouts Credence, once Percival finally manages to immobilize him. His eyes are glassy and unfocused, and he goes cross-eyed trying to glare at Percival, who should not find the display as endearing as he does.

“I told you” he hisses “I’m not interested in that kind of relationship anymore” but Credence merely looks deliberately at his lap, where all evidence seems to point to the contrary, his dick steadily refusing to get with the new programme “It’s not happening” he insists, both for Credence and himself.

Credence does not look overly convinced, but stops attempting to grope him and spends the rest of the ride dozing off on his shoulder. Percival does not have the energy, or the inclination to remove him, and dedicates himself to mentally reviewing the list of reasons why it would be unadvisable to bring the boy back into his bed.

Most of them don’t look half as convincing as they did mere hours ago.

***

By the time they get home, Credence has fallen soundly asleep and Percival has to carry him to his room under the judgmental gaze of Helga, who ‘tsks’ disapprovingly the moment she gets a sniff of the permeating smell of alcohol surrounding Credence.

“Master Percival should know better” she harangues him “Master Percival should not get poor Master Credence drunk. What will Mistress Graves say?”

“Mistress Graves will not know because I will not tell her” grumbles Percival as he deposits Credence on the bed “And neither will you” he adds pointing at Helga.

Helga glares at him as she starts muttering to herself about the fall and decadence of the Graves name. Percival ignores her, knowing she will not dare defy a direct order, no matter how much she dislikes it, and focuses on getting Credence’s shoes off. He puzzles over whether to also remove his clothes and dress him in his pajamas, but ends up deciding against it, and settles for taking off his tie and jacket and unbuttoning the first few buttons of his shirt.

“If you must know, Seraphina is the one at fault tonight” he adds, feeling defensive against his house elf’s continued judging look.

Helga audibly snorts at that.

“Mistress Seraphina would _never_ ” she proclaims scandalized. For some unfathomable reason Percival has never been able to comprehend, Seraphina can do no wrong in her book.

“Yeah, well, just make sure to get a Hangover Potion ready for Credence tomorrow morning” he says, too tired to get into an argument over the supposed virtues of Seraphina Picquery. He pulls the covers over Credence and distractedly brushes some hair away from his face before leaving the room.

He has a letter to write, a trip to plan, and some sexual frustration to get rid off.

***

The next morning he sends out three letters: one for Papá and Mamá, one for Tristan and one for Nim. If he is going to do this, he figures, he may as well do it right, as Seraphina said.

His siblings may be more sympathetic to his predicament, but that does not necessarily mean they will be more likely to openly support him. Tristan has too much pride to let something as big as hiding an engagement just slip by, and Nim has basically made grudge-holding into an Olympic sport, of which she is the undisputed reigning champion.

Work proves to be a nice distraction. Things have been blissfully quiet as of late, the mysterious magic explosions that had plagued the city during the past winter having suddenly stopped a few months back. Any other time Percival would have been annoyed at the unexplained resolution, would probably have drilled his Aurors to scour the city top to bottom until they found a satisfactory explanation to both the explosions and their sudden disappearance. As it stands now, he is only too happy to let the case drift to the ‘Unsolved’ archive, to be lost and forgotten about forever.

Percival reviews all open cases and the teams behind them. He makes sure each team has enough people to progress the investigation through the following weeks and assigns Deputy Leaders to make the critical decisions in his absence. He runs a tight ship, and had already started preparing for his eventual leave on the Campaign Tour, so by mid-afternoon everything is ready to ensure Magical Law Enforcement can run smoothly during his absence.

Percival spends the rest of the day relaxing in his office while he reads about the latest exploits of Grindelwald and his merry band of psychopaths on the newspaper. Theseus had assured him in his last letter that it was just a matter of time before the Ministry and the Regjeringen managed to capture the bastard, Percival ruminates that they must be taking their sweet time, since the letter was sent three months ago and Grindelwald has shown no signs of stopping his macabre European Tour any time soon.

He can only thank his lucky stars that the man has yet to show any interest in the American continent, he does not want to think what a nightmare it would be to deal with an unhinged terrorist on top of everything else he has going on at the moment. But, while Grindelwald is halfway across the World, and too preoccupied with his Holy Crusade to be much of a problem, Mamá is just a few miles north and overly invested in his life. Percival knows full well who he should focus his attention on right now.

As if to illustrate this point, he is greeted with three regal looking owls the minute he gets home. Each of them has a letter attached to their leg, and they keep pushing each other as they vie for a little more space on the windowsill. Percival unties the letters and distractedly feeds them some seeds while he opens the envelopes.

Both his parents and his siblings have agreed to the impromptu family meeting. Percival breathes a sigh of relief. He holds no delusions about having an easy time convincing his family of his supposed engagement, or earning their forgiveness for not telling them, but the fact that they have agreed to his summons without protesting can only be a good sign. Now there is only Credence to take care of.

“Helga!” he shouts while dropping the letters on the tea table “Have you seen Credence?”

“Master Credence is in his bed” announces Helga as she pops into existence in front of him “He was feeling…indisposed” she adds judgment clear in her voice, despite the polite tone.

“Did you give him the Hangover Potion like I told you to?” asks Percival as he starts making his way upstairs.”

“Of course” sniffs Helga, trailing quietly at his heels “He refused to take it. Said ‘God was punishing him for his Sins’” she quotes.

Percival rolls his eyes. Every time he believes he has managed to rid Credence from the influence of Mary Lou’s backwards teachings, some new and invariably awful bit of information pops up.

“Credence?” he asks, knocking on the door to his room “Are you awake?”

A pitiful sound, barely audible through the thick oak door, is his only response. Percival sighs, cursing both Mary Lou and Seraphina in his head.

“I’m coming in” he announces, and pushes the door open.

Credence is laying in the bed, covers pulled up over so high so that only the tip of his nose and his eyes are visible. He stares at Percival through a bloodshot gaze, eyes red and puffy against a pasty white face.

“Hey” he says softly, sitting on the bed and pushing some sweaty hair strands off Credence’s face “Helga said you were not feeling so well”

Credence’s face twists in a mix of pain and anguish, a pathetic whimper escaping his lips, as he pulls away from Percival’s hand, turning on the bed so his back is now facing Percival.

“I’m a lush!” he cries, voice muffled against the pillows, and shoulders drawn up to his ears “A wicked, sinful creature, like Ma always said”

“Nonsense. You’re just a lightweight” consoles him Percival, tentatively reaching out to lightly pat his head. His hair is slightly damp with sweat, and matted from lying down all day long, but he seems to relax slightly at Percival’s touch. “And this is no Heavenly punishment for your vices, it’s just a hangover. We’ve all had those”

“I got so drunk” carries on Credence, still refusing to face Percival “And in front of the President! She’ll never invite us to dinner again now”

“Doubtful, she enjoys poking her nose in my private business far too much for that.” Privately, Percival thinks never being invited to dinner again sounds like a blessing, still he does his best to put Credence’s worries at ease “And I doubt she, or George, are going to judge you for getting a little bit in your cups. Not when they were the main instigators, and matched you drink for drink. I dare bet they woke up with quite a hangover as well” That last bit is a lie, Seraphina has not experienced a hangover in years, her resistance to alcohol nothing short of legendary amongst MACUSA employees. Still, Credence does not need to know that “They won’t judge you” he assures him.

“Will you?” asks Credence, turning slightly to look at Percival over his shoulder “I threw myself at you like a wanton trollop, knowing you are no longer interested in me like that”

“You were drunk” dismisses Percival, carelessly waving his concerns away with his hand, and purposefully skittering about the ‘no longer interested’ statement “I’m not going to judge you for something you did under the influence. Merlin knows I’ve done my fair share of regrettable choices myself when inebriated. Do not worry about it. Now, why don’t you drink the potion Helga prepared for you?” he adds, grabbing the bottle from the bedside table and offering it to Credence “We have some things to discuss, and I imagine you’d rather do it with a clear head”

Credence turns around and hesitantly takes the bottle from him. As he pushes himself up to sit on the bed, Percival notices he is still wearing yesterday’s clothes. He downs the potion in one long swallow, shivering slightly at the taste, before handing the empty bottle back to Percival, who puts it back down on the table.

“Thanks” Credence whispers, an embarrassed blush over his cheeks “I’m feeling much better”

Percival hums in agreement “You’re welcome. Now, I don’t know how much you remember from last night…” he starts, politely ignoring Credence’s self-conscious flinch “but we will be paying a visit to the Graves’ State, so I can properly introduce you to my parents and the rest of the family as my fiancée.”

“…Your parents?” questions Credence, face going ashen again “Do we really need to-?”

“Yes” cuts him off Percival. “It’s the proper thing to do. I’ve already pushed it off for far too long, My family have always been heavily involved in MACUSA politics, avoiding them is not an option. Not if we want to maintain some level of believability, anyway”

“Will you tell them-?”

“No” abruptly interrupts Percival “No, I won’t tell them. Seraphina wants to keep the circle small” he explains. _I couldn’t bear to tell them the truth_ he does not say. He does not want Credence to feel as if he is ashamed of him, and he knows that is how it would come across, despite the fact that the only person he is ashamed of is himself.

“Ah” Credence tightly clutches the sheets pooling at his waist “And will you be able to do it? Lie to your family?”

“I’ll have to. Just like you had to lie to Mary Low when we were, um, together” he smiles tiredly “Maybe you can share some tips on how to fool suspicious mothers. You’re probably better at it than me”

“I wasn’t” protests Credence, voice nothing more than a feeble whisper. He looks down at his hands, laying palms up on his lap. Percival follows his gaze, taking in on the pearly white scars criss-crossing them “Not really. Ma always knew when I lied”

Percival reaches out and takes one of Credence’s slender hands between one his larger and rougher ones. He brushes his thumb over the scarred pattern.

“And yet you kept coming back…” he comments, looking questioningly at Credence. He would not have. Had he been in the younger man’s position he would not have risked corporal punishment for some quick hand jobs and a paltry words of affection.

Credence ducks his head, a self-deprecating smile pulling at the side of his mouth “You were the first person to be nice to me. And she would have found some other reason to beat me anyways. So…” he shrugs, smiling ruefully “It was a choice I made gladly”

“You shouldn’t have had to” bites out Percival, still brushing his thumb over the scars on Credence’s hand. A fee paid in pain and blood just to be someone else’s dirty secret.  Credence had been unfairly shortchanged and still does not seem to realize it “Merlin, I wish we had found you earlier. Taken you away from that monster to live with a nice wizarding family. You would have been able to go to Ilvermorny, be whatever you wanted…”

“I wouldn’t have met you” whispers Credence, blushing furiously but still staring resolutely into Percival’s eyes “You only noticed me because I was with the Second Salemers. If I had been just another wizard you would have barely spared me a glance”

Percival stares back at Credence and lets himself look, _really_ look, at him as he has not done in months. His subtly slanted eyes, framed by long, dark lashes, the aristocratic nose, the red, wide mouth, and the sharp, angular cut of his jaw. He cannot imagine a world where he would be able to ignore such a face.

He swallows.

“Impossible” he says “I noticed you when you dressed in rags and sporting New York’s most terrible haircut. If you had been a MACUSA officer I would have noticed and tried to bed you all the same. I would notice that face anywhere”

Credence smiles “I would have liked to be a Healer. Like Mr. George”

“That’s fine” croaks Percival, throat suddenly dry “Seraphina always says I should date a Healer.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some details:  
> [Between the sheets](http://www.esquire.com/food-drink/drinks/recipes/a3705/between-the-sheets-drink-recipe/): it's the name of an actual cocktail, originating from the Prohibition era. The moment I saw it I decided this had to be Credence's new favourite drink.  
> Regjeringen: literally, "the government" in Norwegian. We still don't know where the fuck Grindlewald spawned from, so I decided to make him Norwegian, to avoid making the fascist, totalitarian villain, German. Also, Drumstrang is supposed to be somewhere in Norway or Sweden, so it's possible. (Many thanks to Inzey for the tip on how to correctly translate it)
> 
> The Graves will finally show up in the next chapter, so expect sibling rivalries, meddlesome parents and plenty of fake- boyfriends shaenigans.
> 
> Let me know what you think!
> 
> UPDATE: Fixed some typos. My initial proofreading on that one was awful.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for all your comments and kudos, they make going through those awful writing blocks much easier.
> 
> Also, apologies for the long wait on this chapter. I spent 10 days completly computer-less for Easter, and once I started writing it ended up way, way longer than I expected (like, waaay longer).
> 
> So, I guess, the good thing is you get a double-sized chapter this time. Yay.
> 
> (I feel like I should just embrace my rambling tendencies and stop trying to make all chapters fall around the 5k mark)

Credence is a Healer.

He is a Healer and works in the Emergency wing at Wilkinson’s when Director Graves is brought in, unconscious due to a well-aimed cursed, and bleeding sluggishly from a wound on his side. Yet still looking devastatingly handsome all the same. Credence heals him up. He patches up his wounds and dispels the curse.

When the Director finally wakes up, and he spots Credence at his bedside, something that may well be desire flits across his eyes, his mouth stretching in a tired, roguish grin.

“Are you my saviour?” he asks in a sleep roughened voice.

_I would notice that face anywhere_

Credence is an Aide to President Picquery.

He is and Aide and, as such he sits behind her in the Pentagram Chamber, taking notes and keeping a close eye on the multiple dignitaries and congressmen milling across the room.

Director Graves is sat next to the President, legs spread open and an arm casually thrown over the back of his seat. He turns towards Credence and smirks, dangerous and seductive, as he leans in to whisper in his ear. “And who may you be?”

_I would notice that face anywhere_

Credence is a Junior Auror, fresh from the Academy.

He is an Auror and he stays to attention as Director Graves inspects the new recruits. When the Director’s eyes land on him, his gaze grows dark and hungry.

“Recruit” he says, not breaking eye contact “Come see me in my office after this”

_I would notice that face anywhere_

Credence is the rich heir to a powerful Wizarding family.

He is a rich heir, on his coming-of-age party, filled with the crème de la crème of New York society. He stands at the top of a grand, marble staircase, the attention of the whole room focused on him. But he cares not for the adoring gazes of young ladies, or the envious looks of some gentlemen. He only has eyes for the man standing at the bottom of the staircase, dressed all in black, extending a hand-

“You have been stirring your coffee for twenty minutes, Master Credence, it’s gonna grow cold” Helga says, brusquely interrupting his daydreams and bringing him, crashing back, to reality.

“Oh. Yes, of course. Thank you” bumbles out Credence, as he clumsily drops his spoon and hurriedly takes a sip out of the mug to hide his blush at being caught, yet again, daydreaming. He makes a grimace at the taste. The coffee is cold and bitter. He also forgot to put sugar in it.

Helga just regards him impassively from across the kitchen, eyes full of judgement she is probably too polite to voice out. “Would Master Credence like another cup?” she delicately asks.

Credence shakes his head “No, this is fine, thanks Helga” he answers, downing the rest of the cup in one long swing and shuddering at the bitterness “I, uh, I better go finish packing-”

“Helga finished packing the suitcase,” she interrupts “while Master Credence stirred his coffee and stared off into the oven. Helga will also take care to apparate all suitcases to the Estate, in time for the Masters’ arrival”

Credence’s blush intensifies. “Oh. That’s, um, very nice of you, Helga. Thanks”

She nods “Helga lives to serve, Master Credence”

“Right, right. I’ll just go, uh, go wait for Percival in the living room” he says as he nervously backpedals out of the kitchen.

“You do that, Master Credence” follows him the sound of Helga’s amused voice.

Credence retreats himself to the living room, sitting down on his favourite armchair and picking up a book to distract himself from his stupid fantasies. He eyes the cover. _Introduction to Charms_. Not his favourite subject, but it will do, anything to keep his mind from wandering off in delusional dreams about impossible ‘what-ifs’. So what if Percival notices him, no matter how they meet? His interest in Credence faded quick enough, there is no saying it would last longer in any of these imagined realities than it did in this one. The man had admitted to being quite satisfied with his status as a bachelor, after all. Maybe being a fling is all Credence can ever aspire to be in any case.

“Are you ready to leave?” asks Percival swooping into the room, startling Credence from his pretend study, and almost making him drop the book.

Credence scrambles for the book and quickly stands up, almost knocking off the coffee table in the process “Yes!” he answers, nervously smoothing down his jacket “All ready. I just need to grab my coat and- um” he breaks off when he gets his first look at Percival.

Gone is his usual long, black coat, gone are the dark, smartly cut, suit and waistcoat, gone is his always perfectly arranged tie. For the first time since Credence met him Percival is dressed in colours other than black, grey and white. A robin egg blue shirt, with a white collar, top buttons undone to fit a silk, burgundy neck scarf tie, tucked into a camel tan waistcoat, matching the jacket and pants. In his arm he holds a light tan trenchcoat and a light panama hat.

A hat.

“What” Percival bites out, shuffling, almost nervously, where he stands, clearly uncomfortable in his new ensemble.

“Um, nothing” Credence says, embarrassed at having been caught so blatantly staring. What else can he say? _I didn’t know you owned clothing on the lighter end of the color spectrum? I’m sorry for staring, I have never seen you wear anything but black and grey and want to commit the sight of this blue shirt and burgundy tie to memory?_ “It’s just, the suit is...uh, slightly more colorful than usual. And the hat, it’s, um, I have never seen you wear one, that’s all”

Percival snorts amusedly, shuffling into his coat “Mamá always says I dress like a funeral director, instead of an MLE one, says I ought to put on more color in my life” he glares briefly at the hat still in his hand, before sighing, resigned, and putting it on with a flourish “And she always insists that a true gentleman should never go anywhere without his hat.”

He looks good, thinks Credence, his own coat still halfway on, and his hat hanging uselessly from his hand. He looks unfairly good. The lighter colours compliment nicely his slightly tanned skin, and give him a softer appearance than his usual dark and somber ensembles.

He must have stared for too long (again), because Percival catches his eye and shrugs self-consciously “I look like a tool, don’t I?” he questions, taking his hat off and turning it over in his hands “Never got the hang of those, I must say…”

He keeps putting on, and taking off the hat the whole way to the Magical Transportation, Appartition and Portkey Offices, and fiddles with it while an elderly witch puts the finishing touches on their Portkeys, an old  newspaper to get there, and a simple pocket watch for the return.

“I, uh, I think it looks good on you” whispers Credence around the twentieth time Percival tries on the hat “Very smart”

Percival quietly startles and turns to look at him, an inquisitive look in his eyes. Credence stares calmly back, trying to will his cheeks not to redden in embarrassment. Percival hufs amused and dutifully puts the hat back on ”If you say so” he says, smiling shyly at Credence from under the brim of the hat.

He does not take it off again for the rest of the trip.

 

***

 

The Portkey trip leaves Credence feeling faint and wanting to empty the contents of his stomach. Only Percival’s arm, reassuringly strong and steady across his waist, prevents him from fainting, face first, into the ground.

Once the dizziness and nausea subside, Credence is finally able to take on his surroundings. The portkey seems to have dropped them off in the middle of a forest. Tall trees surround them on all sides, and the tall, rocky peaks of some mountains can be seen off in the distance. The only indicator of any civilisation is a small, winding trail that disappears into the forest.

“Where- where are we?” asks Credence, feeling disorientated and woefully unprepared. He had never left New York before, and Central Park remains the height of his exposition to nature.

“The Green Mountains Forest, Vermont” unhelpfully informs him Percival, slightly steering him towards the trail with a hand on the small of his back.

“I thought we were going to the Graves Estate?” questions Credence, letting himself be guided and keeping all his focus on not stumbling over the exposed tree roots, or stepping on any mud that may dirty up his shoes and suit. That would make for an awful first impression to Percival’s family.

“We are just at the edge of it” calmly answers Percival “Common MACUSA portkeys cannot penetrate the Graves’ wards, so I had to request for them to leave us at the entrance. It is just a fifteen minute walk from here. I thought it would also be a good opportunity to, uh, explain, about my family.”

Credence nods “You are descended from one of The Twelve, aren’t you? Gondolphus Graves”

Percival smiles and nods, satisfied “Indeed. The Graves family originally hails from Ireland, we were one of the first pureblood families to make it across to the New World and, as you pointed out, helped in the funding of MACUSA, especially the Auror department”

“Is it a family tradition, then?” questions Credence, thankful for the opportunity to find out more about Percival’s origins “Being an Auror, I mean”

“Merlin, No!” laughs Percival amused. “Papá nearly had a stroke when I first enrolled into the Academy. You see, the Graves may have had a hand in the creation of MACUSA’s Magical Law Enforcement office, but their interest didn’t remain on that for very long. Merinor Graves, Gondolphus’ son, founded the Graves Bank. North America’s first Wizarding Financial institution. Unlike European Wizarding Banks, this one was not managed by Goblins, but by wizards. Gondolphus’ reputation as an Auror helped his son establish the bank as a safe and secure option for North American wizards to save their money without needng to travel to the Old Continent. Each Graves generation ever since has either worked at the Bank itself, or occupied a position within MACUSA that would benefit it in one way or another. The Bank has done nothing but grow and remains, to this day, North America’s first banking institution”

“You were supposed to be a _banker_?” asks Credence amused. He cannot picture Percival sitting behind a desk sorting out contracts and credits, and whatever other boring staff it is that bankers do.

“Not quite” smiles Percival in return “Tristan, my older brother, was the one set to inherit the business, and he did not disappoint. I, on the other hand, was expected to join the Department of Monetary and Financial Affairs at MACUSA. Papá hoped for me to become the Secretary of the Coin, at some point. Had an internship sorted out for me and everything. He definitely did not appreciate me thwarting his carefully laid plans. Spent months ranting about how I was out of my mind, carelessly throwing away my career for some silly adrenaline thrills, for chasing after an old legacy. Mamá was inconsolable. Kept crying about how some dark wizard was gonna off me before I was twenty five, and ‘Oh, Percy, what of me then?’ ”

“And what made you do it?” prompts Credence intrigued. He cannot imagine Percival as a paper-pushing officer in MACUSA, but neither can he imagine rebelling so openly against his own family's wishes. His short affair with Percival had been his one and only act of rebellion against Ma, and even that had been done in secrecy.

Percival shrugs “I never had any interest in banking to begin with. Seraphina had mentioned she intended to join MACUSA’s Prosecutor’s office, and had asked me to join her, but lawyer work did not appeal to me at all. The Auror Corps seemed the closest thing. I was seventeen, full of ambition and recklessness. A life on the field sounded much more appealing than one spent behind a desk.”

“Did- did your family accept it?” asks Credence warily, fearful of entering a long existing battle between Percival and his parents as the last Bad Decision made by their son.

“Grudgingly. I climbed the ranks easily enough to satisfy Papá’s expectations and calm Mamá’s worries about some drunk stabbing me in the back, during night patrols. Of course, then the Great War happened and it all became rather moot anyhow”

“You fought in the War” It is not so much a question as an affirmation. Percival’s shoulders are tense and the hand he keeps on Credence’s back trembles slightly.

“All MACUSA Aurors did. Got a few medals for it, too.” Percival confirms in a monotone voice “Mamá and Papá came to see me. When they shipped me off. It was the first time they told me they were proud of my career choice. Mamá- she-”

“We don’t have to talk about it” interrupts Credence, slightly spooked by the tight, withdrawn tone of Percival’s voice. He has heard tales about the Great War, from the old soldiers wandering the streets that Ma sometime took them to minister to. Each tale had been more horrifying than the last.

“Thanks” whispers Percival, voice slightly hoarse, squeezing Credence’s waist “Anyway, after that there were no more reproaches. By the time I came back we had all clearly understood what I had signed up to all those years ago, way better than we had back then. My promotion to Director of MLE made them quite proud, as well, Mamá  finally had something to brag about to her Ladies’ Club. And, of course, they were pretty willing to support my bid for the Vice-Presidency. Anyways, here we are” he says gesturing grandly at…

Nothing.

Credence stares. They seem to have reached the end of the trail, a small lake with only a small, shabby wooden pier, flanked on all sides by tall trees. He glances discreetly back at Percival, who just smiles back, entirely too self-amused for Credence’s taste.

“There’s… nothing?” Credence says. There’s probably a magic entrance somewhere, he muses, a door that can only be revealed when the right words are used. He could have pointed that out, but clearly Percival seems to be having some fun with the reveal and, indeed, Credence’s innocent sounding question only makes himl smile harder.

Percival lets go of Credence’s waist and steps in front of him, walking towards the lake, all the while looking back at Credence and grinning smugly. He looks like one of those magician’s he sometimes had spotted on the streets back home, the ones with the flashy outfits and grand gestures, who popped rabbits out of their hats. Credence smiles, amused at discovering this more playful side to Percival.

Percival gestures with his hand for Credence to approach, which he does, until they are both standing at the edge of the pier. Percival throws his arm around Credence shoulder, his other hand grabbing onto the arm closer to him. “Gondolphus Graves was a very private man” he explains, whispering the words into Credence’s ear, excitement clear in his voice. Credence guesses it is not common for Percival to bring people to his parents’ Estate. Percival continues “A very wanted man, as well, with all the Scourers and criminals he helped put away. So he decided to build himself and his family a new house, a secure house, one that only those who _truly_ looked would be able to find” he finishes extending his arm and pointing out to something in front of him.

Credence nods, to show he is listening, and follows the line of Percival’s finger. At first he sees nothing, just the clear, turquoise colored waters of the lake in front of them, but then a shadow seems to appear beneath the surface, becoming clearer, and more defined the more he looks. Soon Credence can figure out the shape of a great, imposing and rich mansion underneath the waters. A great wooden door seems to be reflected on the lake’s surface, as well as white walls, filled with large windows covered in expensive looking curtains. Credence lets his mouth fall open in wonder, and can hear Percival chuckle amused next to him.

“Now you can look up” whispers Percival, and Credence head snaps up instantly to find the mansion no longer reflected on the lake but standing in front of them. When he extends his arm, he can touch the smooth wood of the great front door. The mansion stands on top of the lake, its walls disappearing deep into the waters. “Welcome to the Graves Estate” says Percival, gesturing dramatically with the arm not holding Credence’s shoulders.

“You have a moat” blurts out Credence, because, really, it deserves mentioning. Percival laughs, rich and warm against his side, as he pushes open the door and draws Credence inside.

The interior is just as imposing and lavish as the exterior suggested. Shiny wooden floors, covered in rich, colorful rugs, and ancient looking portraits hanging from every wall, their occupants all focused on Credence and Percival, whispering softly among themselves.

Credence tries to surreptitiously hide behind Percival to get away from the paintings’ scrutiny, when his attention is caught by three children excitedly sprinting across the corridor towards them.

“Uncle Percy! Uncle Percy!” they shout, as they nearly trip over each other in their enthusiasm to greet their uncle.

Percival crouches on the ground, mindless of his light beige trenchcoat dragging across the floor, and opens his arms for the kids to dive into.

The kids crash into him with such force that they almost send him tumbling down on his ass, their tiny arms going around his neck, and clinging to his coat, starting to talk over each other as Percival laughs, delighted.

Credence stands back, unsure of what to do or how to react. Should he introduce himself to the kids? He has never been introduced to anyone’s family before, fake fiancée or otherwise, and is considerably at loss as to what the expected behavior is on this type of situations.

He is saved from making any potentially embarrassing decisions when the oldest kid, a serious looking girl with dark, curly hair, and her uncle’s strong brows, seems to notice him. She curtly separates herself from the reunion pile on the floor and approaches Credence, holding out a delicate pale hand, with all the solemn grace a young teen can muster.

“You must be Uncle Percival’s fiancée” she says, all formality and politeness. The childish joy of a few moments ago completely forgotten “I’m Morgana Graves, his niece. It’s a pleasure to meet you”

Credence takes her hand and carefully shakes it.”The pleasure is all mine”

Morgana nods, apparently satisfied with his performance. In the meantime, Percival seems to have pushed himself of the floor, and he comes to stand behind Credence, an arm quickly sneaking around his waist and pulling him close. Credence is silently thankful for President Picquery’s endless drills on couple behavior, since they are the only reason he does not jump out of his skin or blush at the sudden contact.

“I see you’ve met little Ana” says Percival “She is Tristan’s oldest, already on her third year at Ilvermorny”

“Fourth” corrects Morgana - Ana?- with a deadpan.

Percival flinches in response “Fourth year” he amends “That means you have started Defense Against the Dark Arts with Professor Sybill?”

“Professor Sybill retired three years ago” replies Ana. Percival closes his eyes, and lets out a sigh, brows furrowing in  frustration.

“And who are these two? Your siblings?” jumps in Credence pointing to the two remaining kids, before Percival can put his foot on his mouth for the third time. He is starting to appreciate why he wanted to avoid the family visit.

“These are Elaine and Galahad” quickly introduces them Percival, obviously happy at the opportunity to change the topic of conversation. “Elaine is Nim’s oldest, she is seven” he says pointing at the girl currently attached to his leg. Blonde and blue-eyed, she smiles shyly up at Credence, coquettishly pretending to hide behind her uncle’s leg. “-and this is Galahad, Gal, he is Tristan’s youngest, just six.” finishes Percival pointing at the only boy in the group, a small dark-haired kid, who bounces excitedly on the balls of his feet and offers Credence a wide toothy grin.

“Pleased to meet you, Sir!” Gal exclaims, a bit too loud.

“Pleasure is all mine” replies again Credence, offering his hand to Gal, who eagerly takes it and shakes it with more force than it is strictly necessary. Credence hides a wince when his arm is nearly pulled out of its socket.

“Well, kids, as happy as I am to see you all, we must go say hello to your parents and grandparents. Could you tell me which room-”

“But where’s the baby, Uncle Percy?” pipes up Elaine.

“The baby?” questions Percival, smiling down at her.

“The one you stole” replies Elaine.

“What are you on about? I haven’t stolen any babies” replies Percival, his smile going strained around the edges.

“But Mommy said you had robbed the craddle” declares Elaine, innocently.

“The- What- Who?” bumbles out Percival, apparently at a loss for words, growing red all across the back of his neck to the top of his ears.

“Elaine!!” admonishes Ana scandalised.

Elaine blinks her wide, blue eyes up at them both, the perfect picture of innocence. Ana shuffles awkwardly next to her, while Percival grows even more red than Credence thought was possible, and opens and closes his mouth several times, no words coming out.

“It’s just…” murmurs Ana, staring at her feet to avoid her uncle’s gaze “Well, you have to admit, Mr. Credence is a bit too young for you, Uncle Percy”

“What” bites out Percival, his blush quickly turning from embarrassment to anger.

“Where are your parents?” buts in Credence before Percival can get into a shouting match with a teen and a seven year old.

“They are in the main drawing room!” shouts Gal, clearly as keen as Credence in diffusing the tension.

Credence smiles thankfully back at him and turns to Percival. “Dear…” he says while discreetly pushing him forward with a hand on his back “We don’t want to keep your parents waiting, do we?”

Percival tears his attention away from his two nieces and clears his throat, seeming to remember himself “Right, yes, of course. I’ll see you later kids” he says while already striding down the corridor, Credence at his side.

“I’m not a kid!” shouts Ana at their backs.

Percival quickens the pace.

 

***

 

“Please, remember you once had some level of respect for me after we leave this blasted place” he whispers to Credence, once they stop before a set of heavily decorated, double doors.

Credence attempts, what he believes, is a reassuring smile, and squeezes Percival’s hand. Percival smiles back gratefully, a new tiredness across his eyes.

“Nothing for it now, I guess” he says as he pushes open the doors.

 

***

 

Credence’s first impression of the Graves is that they look like a portrait. They all sit, or stand, across the drawing room, perfectly poised and dressed, staring back at Credence and Percival as they cautiously make their way into the room. They walk until they are standing in front of an old couple sat regally in the main sofa. Percival’s parents, thinks Credence in a panic.

“Mamá, Papá,...” starts Percival, clutching Credence’s hand so hard it is almost painful. He audibly swallows, pausing and glancing nervously around the room before locking eyes again with his progenitors “I- I apologise for not doing this sooner. It is no one’s fault but my own. I-” he breathes in shakily before continuing “I would like to introduce you to my fiancée, Credence Barebone. Credence” he adds turning to look at him “meet my parents. Saoirse and Lancelot Graves”

“It’s an absolute pleasure to finally meet you, Sir, Madam” manages to say Credence, bowing his head. His heart is beating wildly in his chest, and his hands are clammy where they desperately clutch onto Percival’s own, sweaty ones. He is surprised he managed to form a coherent greeting at all.

“Oh, dear, no need for such formalities” quickly assures him Mrs.Graves “You are soon to be family. I would very much like if you thought of me as a second mother, rather than some stern, scary mother-in-law”

“I-” Credence swallows against the sudden knot on the back of his throat.  He thinks back to Mary Lou, to her cold stare, and badly disguised sneers every time she laid eyes on him. Mrs.Graves looks at him with warm, affectionate eyes. They are by far her more striking feature, chocolate brown, surrounded by thick, dark lashes. Percival’s eyes, he realises distantly. “I would like that, very much” he manages to say, throat too tight and eyes burning.

Mrs.Graves smiles back at him, and pats his cheek. “Good boy”

“Anyone loved by Percy is loved by us all” declares Mr.Graves, putting a hand down on Credence’s shoulder and squeezing reassuringly. He is a tall, severe looking man, with slicked back white hair and piercing blue eyes that scrutinise both Credence and Percival from beneath white, bushy eyebrows. He looks like a lighter, older version of Percival, so close are they in appearance.

“Now, now, Percy” pipes up one of the other men in the room. Shorter, with dark curls, an open smile that dimples at the cheeks, and dark Graves’ eyebrows. “We all want to meet your fiancée! It’s not only Mamá and Papá, who have been kept on the dark on this one”

“My brother, Tristan Graves, Chief Executive Officer of Graves Bank” announces Percival gesturing to the other man, who quickly approaches them and vigorously shakes Credence’s hand. “And my sister Nimué, Justice at the Wizarding Court” continues Percival pointing to a beautiful woman sitting regally in an armchair next to Mrs. and Mr. Graves.

“Enchantée” smiles Nimué, raising her drink as a salutation. Blonde and blue-eyed, she looks every inch her father’s daughter, from the bold eyebrows to the strong jaw, and stern features. “Please, call me Nim, everyone does” Her smile is sharp as a knife.

Credence smiles back.

“And this is my husband, Wilhem Wolfhart” continues Nim, gesturing at the tall, blonde man standing by her chair “You may have heard of him, he owns the new Honeydukes store that opened up in Dragon Boulevard, along with several other European exports”

“Oh, yes” says Credence, remembering the sugar quills Tina had gifted him a few days ago “I have tried some of the, uh, the produce. They were very good”

“Weren’t they?” agrees Nim “They are a hit with the kids” she adds pointedly looking at Credence. He hears Percival choke up next to him.

“I imagine” he responds blandly, trying to sound and appear as calm as he can, determined not to let any comments ruffle him. From the corner of his eye he can see Percival doing a piss-poor job of it, ears red with embarrassment and jaw locked in anger. He guesses the man has not had anyone, other than the President, mock him so openly in years. Credence, on the other hand, has dealt with way worse insults and provocations on a daily basis. He can take a bit of ribbing from Percival’s sister.

Nim holds his stare for a few moments longer, before throwing her head back and laughing, delighted. “Oh, I like this one. You can keep him, Percy”

“I was already intending to” responds, no, _growls_ , Percival from behind Credence, drawing him in closer, and glaring at his sister. Credence goes willingly and, because it seems the right thing to do, places a brief kiss on Percival’s cheek.

Nim’s grin across the room threatens to split her face in half, and Percival seems to relax again, the fight seemingly going out of him.

Of course, that is when Elaine decides to come in and announce, loudly “Mommy! You lied! Uncle Percy didn’t bring a baby with him!”

 

***

 

Dinner is... Well, dinner is an awkward, terrible mess, if Credence has to be honest.

Mr. and Mrs.Graves seem friendly enough, asking about Credence’s life, and his adaptation to the magical world, and continuosly telling Percival how delighted they are at him finally deciding to settle down. Nim and Tristan, on the other hand, seem quite intent in making Percival loose his patience, or what little is left of it by now.

“So, Percy, are you planning to enroll Credence in Ilvermorny, next school year?” amiably asks Tristan.

“I hired a private tutor for him, he is too old for Ilvermorny” grits out Percival, viciously stabbing the potatoes in his plate.

“Oh, is he?” Tristan blinks innocently at his brother, a placid and friendly smile firmly in place.

Nim does not stay far behind.

“So, Percy, do tell us again how you two met”

“I told you already. He was part of a case my team was investigating”

“No, no I get that. You see, what I’m wondering is what’s the current policy in MLE on sleeping with suspects, there must be something in the rules against it, doesn’t it?”

Percival silently glares back.

“I’m just saying, that seems like a terrible oversight on you part as Director, can’t have MACUSA’s best and brightest falling in love for dangerous criminals, can we?”

“Credence is not a dangerous criminal, Nim”

“Well, he _was_ advocating for the complete annihilation of our people” calmly joins in Tristan. He turns to his wife, Rossalind, who is sitting next to him “What was it on those flyers _The Ghost_ published?”

“Tris…” Rossalind frowns at him, clearly unwilling to be drawn into the game. Credence feels a rush of affection for her. Tall, and beautiful like a no-maj movie star, she seems way out of Tristan’s league. Almost as far as Percival is from Credence’s.

“No, no, I remember!” pipes back in Nim “ _We need a Second Salem_. That was it! Hell of an introduction card, Percy”

“Credence had _nothing_ to do with what was on the pamphlets” Percival snaps, glaring down at his siblings, his hand a reassuring weight on Credence’s thigh under the table. “And he is not a criminal, if anything, he is a victim of MACUSA’s stupidity, which you would know-”

“Which we would know if you had bothered to properly introduce him to us like you were meant to” Mrs.Graves interrupts him, voice cold as ice “instead of letting us find out about it by seeing his ass printed all across _The Ghost_ ’s front cover. Merlin, Percy, a simple note of warning would have been appreciated”

Percival looks as if he has been sucker punched in the gut “Mamá…” he starts.

“I had to find out from Rumilda Honeywaters, Percy, Rumilda Honeywaters!” she repeats, tears starting to gather at her eyes. Mr.Graves wordlessly puts an arm across her shoulders and hands her a napkin to dab at her eyes. Percival looks absolutely wrecked, softly murmuring ‘Mamá’ as he clutches at Credence thigh like a lifeline. Credence covers his hand with one of his own, hoping to offer support in any way he can.

“-And, and that- that horrible woman” continues Mrs.Graves “She knew - she knew! - that I didn’t have a clue about the engagement, and yet she kept yammering on about how happy we must be. Happy!” she screeches “How could we be happy to find out our own son didn’t trust us enough to tell us about his engagement?”

“Mamá, it’s not like that-” tries to stop her Percival, but Mrs.Graves is clearly on a roll now.

“Did you think we wouldn’t have approved? Be-because, what, because he is a man? Honey, we have known you swung both ways since Ilvermorny, and although, I will miss the potential grandchildren, I only care if he makes you happy. Is it because of the no-maj thing? Do you think us so heartless to hold the poor boy’s past against him?!”

“Of course not, Mamá, I-”

“I wouldn’t have cared if you married Virginia Pemblebee!” exclaims Mrs.Graves “and that’s one ugly, pretentious bint. But I wouldn't have cared if you. Had. just. Told. me.” she finishes, sobbing into her husband’s handkerchief.

“I know” reassures her Percival “I know. And I’m sorry, Mamá, I’m so terribly sorry”

“I don’t think I feel very well” Mrs.Graves says, ignoring her son’s apology and standing up from the table, as Percival looks on, face full of anguish. Mr.Graves immediately stands as well, taking her arm “I will go lie down for a bit. Credence, dear, please do not take this shameful outburst of mine badly. We are delighted to finally meet you, and you seem like such a sweet, decent young man, it’s just-” she shakes her head “Wish it had been different, is all”

“I understand, Mrs. Graves” assures her Credence, tightly squeezing Percival’s hand as he says it “I hope you recover”

“You are a dear” replies Mrs. raves, offering him a watery smile “Way too good for my careless son” she adds as she departs, accompanied by her husband. Percival flinches at the last comment, and Credence opens his mouth to say something, anything.

“I like Mr.Credence much better than Miss Pemblebee” loudly declares Gal.

“We all do,” assures him Tristan, ruffling his hair “We are just a little bit angry at your Uncle Percy for not introducing him to us sooner, that’s all”

“Perhaps Uncle Percy didn’t want to share him” pipes up Elaine “I never like to share my new toys either”

“Credence is not a toy, dear” laughs Nim “but I guess you are right, Percy has always been awful at sharing things he likes”

 

***

 

Credence stands in front of the bed, staring at it. It is a very nice bed, he guesses, with a thick mattress, and soft looking sheets. Probably worth more money than Credence has ever seen in his life.

It also seems to be the _only_ bed.

“We are supposed to be engaged” reminds him Percival when he points it out “and after _The Ghost_ pictures they probably figured we were not exactly waiting until marriage”

Still.

Credence had not been prepared for this. Family drama and nasty comments about his past or his age? Those he had expected. He had been ready for them, and had managed to survive the whole dinner with a perfect composure.

(Of course, most comments and family drama had been focused on Percival this time, with each Graves taking the time to reassure Credence at the end of the meal how much they liked him)

“I can sleep on the floor” says Percival. He is already in his pajamas, looking softer and more tired than Credence has ever seen him before, his mother’s earlier outburst clearly having done a number on him.

“No, it’s not-” Credence takes a deep breath to steel himself. Lord take mercy on his soul. “It’s fine, we can share”

Percival nods tiredly, before immediately climbing into bed while Credence rushes to the ensuite bathroom to get changed. By the time he comes back into the room, Percival seems to have already dozed off.

It is the first time Credence sees him asleep. None of their previous encounters had extended long enough for that to happen, with Percival usually hurrying them out of the room the moment they were done.

He looks younger, is his first thought, more relaxed. There is no crease between his heavy brows, no lines around his mouth. His dark hair falls across the pillow, for once out of its usually slicked back style. He snores. A bit. A low rumble, not loud enough to be annoying. He is even composed and dignified in something as banal as that, thinks Credence, annoyed and inordinately fond at the same time.

He gets under the covers, careful not to disturb Percival’s sleep, and turns his back to him, hovering just on the edge of the bed and facing the wall. He hopes keeping some distance between them will allow him to pretend he is alone in the bed, instead of accompanied by the man he has sinful thoughts about on a daily basis.

He is just starting to fall asleep when an arm falls across his middle, and he can feel Percival moving closer, crowding against his back. Credence tenses up, sleep all but forgotten.

“I’m sorry” murmurs Percival, his lips brushing the nape of his neck. Credence shivers at the sensation, releasing a shaky breath.

“It’s fine” he says, patting Percival’s hand where it falls across his stomach “don’t worry about it, it’s fine” he repeats, hoping it will convince Percival to go back to his own side of the bed and leave Credence to stir in his own sinful desires in peace.

“Still, I’m sorry” whispers again Percival. He does not move.

He stays there, glued to Credence’s back, the warmth of his body obvious even through the two layers of clothing separating them. Credence can feel his chest expand and contract with each breath he takes. He wonders if Percival can also feel the wild staccato beat of his heart against his ribcage. He holds his breath, waiting, until he hears Percival’s soft snores start up again.

Sleep is hard to come by that night, the feeling of Percival, the smell of him, too distracting for Credence to be able to relax enough for sleep to take him.

 

***

 

Credence does not see Percival the following morning. By the time he wakes up, Percival is gone and his side of the bed is already cold, the mussed sheets the only indication that someone slept there last night.

He ends up spending the day with Rossalind, Wilhem, and the children, since the chore members of the Graves family have sequestered themselves away in order to better air their grievances with each other. He does not mind, in fact, he prefers it. Rossalind and Wilhem are nothing but helpful and understanding, and the Graves children are way sweeter and easier to deal with than their older relatives. He also gets to meet Bor, Nim and Wilhem’s youngest, not yet a year old and his favourite member of the family so far.

“You’re good with him” comments Rossalind from where she is lounging next to Credence on a deck chair.

They are in the terrace garden, a great outdoor patio overseeing the lake, with plenty of space for the kids to run around, and chairs and hammocks for the adults to relax in. Credence is sat between Rossalind and Wilhem, bouncing little Bor in his lap, much to the baby’s amusement. Bor, Credence has discovered, is stupidly easy to please. It does not take more than a few words to get him smiling and clapping his hands like a loon. In a way, it is quite refreshing, Credence has never had someone like him so unconditionally before.

“Do not let Saoirse hear you say that” Wilhem tells Rossalind “She’ll start pestering Percival about grandchildren and we will never hear the end of it, the drama will go on for weeks”

“It won’t be that bad, surely?” half jokes Credence. Ignoring her outburst from the night before, Saoirse Graves had struck him as a reasonable, level-headed lady, she would surely understand it if Percival and Credence did not want to discuss children so early in the relationship. Fake relationship. Whatever.

Wilhem gives him a bland, pitying look “I forget you are new to all of this. It will be that bad, trust me. No one does family drama like the Graves”

“Yesterday’s dinner was just a tease” sighs Rossalind, fanning herself with a beautifully painted, and very expensive looking, fan “They will spend the morning shouting at and accusing each other until all proverbial skeletons have been brought out of the closet”

“And once all accusations have been thrown, and all kinds of shit have been stirred up, the waterworks will begin” Wilhem says. He looks almost bored by the whole ordeal.

“Waterworks” says Credence, disbelief apparent in his voice. He has never seen Percival cry, or even tear up, in all the months he has been living with him. He doubts the man even has the capacity for it.

“Oh, yes” says Rossalind “I know they don’t look it, all of them so serious and poised all the time, but I assure you, they are complete waterpots, the whole lot of them”

“Well” interjects Wilhem with a slight frown “to be fair, Percival has always been the most composed of the bunch. I guess he has grown quite impervious to it all, between the War and his job in MACUSA. The  man seems to have been made out of steel, most of the time”

“Please” snorts Rossalind “Percival is aluminium, _at most_. For all this grumpy, unfeeling façade he likes to maintain, he still teared up at your wedding the moment Nim started walking down the aisle. And, well” she adds, with a pointed look at Credence “I believe this young man is quite evident proof that Percy is just as big a softie as the rest of them”

Credence forces out a smile, suddenly flashing back to that bizarre night at the Ansonia, all those months ago, and Percival calmly asking him become his fake fiancée in order to secure the election. That did not seem the type of man to tear up at his sister’s wedding, or anywhere else, really.

“I find it a bit hard to believe…” he muses.

“Just you wait until Christmas” tells him Rossalind “It’s peak Graves Drama Season”

 

***

 

The morning quietly stretches into the afternoon, and Percival remains locked away with his siblings and his parents so, in lieu of anything else to do, Credence happily lets himself be roped into playing Witches and Princesses with Elaine and Gal.

“Are you sure you would not rather be the Princess?” he asks Elaine for umpteenth time as she carefully arranges the wreath of flowers Rossalind conjured to act as the ‘Princess Crown’ on his head.

“I’m a witch” is her reply, the ‘duh’ left unsaid.

It is an argument Credence can find no way to refute.

(It still does not explain why he cannot be a Prince or why Gal gets to be a dragon, though)

Still, it is not like Credence has any kind of experience on this. Mary Lou had rarely allowed any kind of games in her house. _They fill your head with nonsense and lead to distraction_ she used to say _It’s time that you would better spend praying to the Lord, Credence, you have much to atone for._ He remembers watching Modesty play hopscoth a few times, carelessly singing that awful song that always made his hair stand on end. He finds he much prefers Elaine and Gal’s games, with their nonsensical rules and made up stories.

Another good point is that the only thing they seem to require Credence to do is lie down in one of the benches in the garden and pretend to be asleep.

 _You have been cursed by a Dark Witch to sleep forevermore_ said Elaine.

Fine by him. It offers him the perfect opportunity to recover some missing sleep with no Percival there to distract him. He forces himself to relax, letting the warmth of the low afternoon sun, and Elaine and Gal’s cheerful voices lull him to sleep.

“Well, don’t you make a beautiful Princess” wakes him up a voice next to his ear, just as he starts to doze off.

Credence’s eyes fly open and he scrambles to sit up, his flower crown almost falling off his head.

“Careful there” says Percival, crouched next to the bench where Credence had been laying down. He lays a hand on his shoulder to steady him, as he delicately repositions the flower crown on his head “You’ll lose your pretty crown” he adds. His fingers briefly tangle in Credence’s hair as he adjusts the crown, and brush against the shell of his ear and the line of his jaw as they withdraw, making Credence’s breath catch in his throat.

“You are doing it wrong!” interrupts Eliane, forcefully inserting herself in between them. Percival’s hand falls from Credence’s face and he finds himself mindlessly swaying towards it for a second, his skin tingling where Percival’s fingers grazed it, until his awareness catches up. He flushes with embarrassment at his blatant wantonness. Thankfully Percival’s attention is now focused on Elaine, and he does not notice.

“We are doing it wrong?” Percival asks amused. Crouched down as he is, he finds himself at eye level with his niece, who boldly glares him down.

“Princess Credence has been Cursed to sleep forevermore by the Dark Witch Grindellina” she explains “Gal the Dragon and I are on a quest to find a cure”

“And how is that quest going? Any leads on the cure?”

Elaine sighs, full of resignation and drama “Our efforts are still ongoing. It was a very Powerful and Dark Curse, Uncle Percy, it can’t be simply waved away with a wave of a wand”

“That’s sounds terrible” Percival comments, eyebrows furrowing in mock concern.

“Mh-mh” agrees Elaine “Very terrible. Princess Credence will be asleep for a long time” she adds, glaring back at the very awake Credence.

“You know,” whispers Percival in a conspiratorial tone “There exists a Cure that can vanish any Curses”

Elaine moves closer, clearly interested “Any curse?”

Percival nods “Any curse”

“There is no such cure!” shouts Gal, jumping on Percival’s back and making him stumble forward “Lies! Nothing but lies!”

“Gal! What are you doing?” yells an exasperated Elaine “This is not how the play goes!”

“Lies! Lies!” keeps happily shouting Gal, furiously clinging to Percival’s back.

“It seems to me, Elaine, as if Gal the Dragon does not want us to save Princess Credence” says Percival, oblivious to the little boy currently trying to climb on his shoulders “I believe he may be Grindellina’s spy”

“A spy!” gasps Elaine “We need to defeat him if we want to save the Princess, but how will we ever kill a dragon?”

“I have just the spell” says Percival, pulling Gal over his head and into his lap in one swift move “ _Tickelesterus”_ he announces in a booming voice, before proceeding to mercilessly tickle the boy in his lap.

“I yield! I yield!” shouts Gal in between breathless bursts of laughter.

“Let that be a lesson never to betray a Graves” announces Percival as he releases him. Gal just rolls down unto the floor, breathless and flushed from laughter. “And now, after defeating the terrible Gal the Dragon, Percival the Brave runs up to the Castle where the Princess lays to-”

“Why do you get to save the Princess? It’s not fa-” starts to interrupt him Elaine, but is immediately silenced by a very pointed raise of Percival’s eyebrows.

“As I was saying, Percival the Brave rescues the Princess with power of True Love’s Kiss” Percival says before swiftly leaning down and capturing Credence’s mouth.

Credence expects it to be a short kiss. A simple, quick, dry brush of lips. A play kiss. But it seems Percival has a different idea. He does not push away. He keeps kissing Credence, his lips brushing against his again, and again, in a soft, sensual caress that leaves him flushed and makes his eyelids flutter closed. He grabs onto Percival’s waistcoat lapels in an attempt to steady himself, but the other man seems to take that as encouragement and promptly catches Credence’s lower lip between his teeth, pulling slightly, before releasing it and carefully teasing it with his tongue.

There is a hand on his lower back, keeping him sitting upright, and another one at the back of his head, angling his face just right, one thumb maddeningly caressing the hollow space below his ear. It is too much. Credence feels his mouth fall open, panting shallowly against Percival’s, who does not waste the opportunity and swiftly deepens the kiss, his tongue carefully tangling with Credence’s.

It has been weeks since Credence last kissed Percival. A clumsy, desperate kiss at the Coleridge Gala. It has been months since he did it properly. Months of painful longing and suppressed desire, with Percival ever so close and yet further than he had ever been. It all comes tumbling back now, desire twisting hot in his belly and crawling up his throat, coming out on a breathy, loud moan, panted against Percival’s mouth.

“Mercy Lewis, Percy, try and control yourself!” Nim shouts, her voice pulling Credence from the foggy, warm spell of Percival’s lips as effectively as a bucket of cold water. He tenses up and makes to pull away, but is stopped by the hand, still firmly locked around his waist. He looks up at Nim from over Percival’s shoulder. She does not look happy. “There are children present!”

Percival snorts “They don’t mind” he replies, tucking a strand of hair behind Credence ear. Credence cannot stop the shiver that runs through his body at the touch. “Do you, kids?” Percival asks turning his attention to Elaine and Gal.

Both children stare back at them with completely baffled expressions. Elaine’s left eye twitches intermittently.

“That was absolutely disgusting” Gal proclaims.

Percival squints his eyes at him, then shrugs “You’ll change your mind once you get older”

“Ew. No” Elaine says, scrunching up her nose in disgust.

“Percival…” calls him Credence, pulling on his shirt to capture his attention.

“Right” Percival quickly looks back at him, kisses his forehead, loops his other arm under Credence’s legs, and stands up in one swift motion.

Credence squeaks, startled, and throws his arms around Percival’s neck in order not to overbalance and end up falling flat on his ass. A quick look around the courtyard shows him they have the attention of the full Graves family. Mr. and Mrs. Graves look on amused, Tristan gives them a not-so-subtle thumbs up, and Nim keeps on glaring daggers at the back of Percival’s head, as she tries to cover Elaine and Gal’s eyes and ears at the same time. Credence hides his face in the crook of Percival’s neck, blushing bright red with embarrassment.

“Now, if you’ll excuse us, Credence and I will be retiring to our rooms. Do not expect us for dinner” With that bold announcement Percival turns on his heels and walks back into the house, carrying a too-stunned-to-react Credence in his arms.

Credence keeps his head bowed, nose brushing against Percival’s shirt collar, paralyzed by a mix of shock, embarrassment, and some ridiculous sense of hope that Percival is taking him to their room to continue where they left off before Nim interrupted.

Also, this close Credence can freely breathe in the inebriating mix of expensive cologne, hair pomade, and some unidentified, musky smell that is uniquely Percival’s. It is very nice.

 

***

 

Despite Credence’s hopes, Percival lets him go the moment they reach their room, apologises for what is probably the best kiss Credence has experienced in his life, and then proceeds to take an inordinately long shower, while Credence sits on the bed, consumed by want and an increasing sense of frustration about their fake engagement.

When Percival emerges from the shower, dressed in pajamas and with his wet hair in complete disarray, falling softly across his face, Credence has already changed into his own nightclothes and slipped under the covers, curled up on one side of the bed. He feels the mattress dip slightly when Percival sits down on it, but forces himself to stay still, eyes closed and breathing even.

“Fuck, what a mess”  

Credence does not know what it is that makes him turn on his back and open his eyes. Whether it is the ragged, weary tone of Percival’s voice, so unlike its usual calm, or the fact that he is, apparently, upset enough to swear.

“Oh, you’re still awake” Percival says on spotting him. He scrubs one hand across his face and over his hair, sighing, before he turns to fully look at Credence “Sorry, again, for the whole spectacle, it’s just- I needed to get away. For a bit.”

Credence pushes himself up to a sitting position and lays a tentative hand on Percival’s shoulder “Did something happen? At your meeting. Did they- Do they know we’re not-?”

“No” Percival covers Credence’s hand with his, squeezing lightly, reassuring “No” he repeats “They don’t. And thank Merlin for that. It seems like getting engaged to you is the only of my recent decisions they approve off, even if they still resent me for keeping it from them. It’s just- Politics. They’re fucking everywhere”

“You are running for Vice-President” Credence points out “Politics are part of the deal, I believe”

Percival huffs a humorless laugh “That they are” he agrees “I just don’t think Seraphina is going to be too happy with some of the things I’ve just promised them”

“Then why did you?”

Percival shrugs, laying back to rest against the pillows, his head thunking loudly against the headboard when he throws it back “Because I need them to win. Even if that means allowing fucking Tristan to openly trade with no-maj banks”

“Trade with no-majs? Why would he want that?”

“Competition. European wizards are more relaxed in regards to the Statute of Secrecy, their banks are allowed to trade with their no-maj counterparts, which helps them offer better rates, get more customers. Tristan doesn’t want to lose any more clients to Gringotts. Anyway, this is boring stuff, tell me about your day”

Credence does. He rests his head against the headboard, next to Percival, shoulders almost touching, and tells him about Wilhem and Rossalind’s gossip, relishing the chuckle it brings out out of Percival when he is called a ‘waterpot’. He tells him about Elaine and Gal’s antics, about meeting Bor, and about the tour of the Estate Ana offered him.

“Ana offered to give you a tour?” Percival asks, an eyebrow raised in disbelief “Merlin, she must really like you. I can’t even get her to fetch me a drink. Could it be she has a little crush on you?”

Credence snorts at the ridiculousness of that notion “Doubtful. Also, I’m way too old for her, don’t you think?”

Percival doesn’t answer. He just looks at him with an absolutely wrecked expression, eyebrows pinched together and mouth pulled tight in a grimace. He looks as if someone had just punched him in the gut. It takes Credence a few seconds to realise what he just said, and when he does, he blushes furiously. Percival has more years on him, than Credence does on Ana. If Credence is too old for Ana...

“I- I didn’t mean it like that” he rushes to assure the other man.

Percival smiles tiredly back at him, it looks strained and does not reach his eyes “Doesn’t make it any less true”

Credence opens and closes his mouth several times. _I don’t think you are too old for me_ he wants to say. _I don’t care about the grey on your hair or the crows feet on your eyes_ he thinks desperately at Percival, but no sound makes it pass his lips.

Eventually Percival turns away from him with a rueful, sad smile. He picks up a book from the bedside table, puts on his glasses, round, and golden rimmed, and starts to read. Credence stays silent, sliding down until he is, once again, laying flat on his back on the bed, head turned to look up at Percival.

He is older, there is no denying that. And yet, from his greying temples, to the glasses, and the lines on his face, to his rough, calloused hands, there is not a piece of him that Credence would change if he could. He wishes he could tell him that. Wishes the words did not get logged on his throat, silent and useless. Wishes he could kiss away the frown on his brow, smooth down the lines on his face with his mouth, and brush through his silver, cropped hair with his fingers.

He wishes Percival would believe him.

 

***

 

The next day, Credence awakes to the sound of the shower running once again. He blinks, dazedly, to clear the fog of sleep from his eyes, and forces himself to get out of bed and put on his clothes. Yesterday he already overslept, and even though no one seemed to mind, he does not want the Graves to think he is a lazy sloth.

He is already tying his tie, when the door to the bathroom opens and Percival enters the room, accompanied by a cloud of steam, a ridiculously small towel, and not much else. His hair falls in wet, messy strands to frame his face, and water droplets fall from it to run, in tantalising rivulets, down his chest and into his towel. He is well built, with muscled arms and a broad chest, dusted with black and grey hair. Credence almost swallows his tongue at the sight, misses a twist, and ends up nearly strangling himself with the tie.

“Good morning” he manages to say, in a strangled, high pitched voice.

Percival nods back at him “Morning, Credence. Need any help with the tie?” he asks, pointing with his head to the tie still tangled up on an awkward knot at the base of Credence throat.

He makes to approach Credence who, hastily scrambles back until his back hits the door “No!” Credence says, feeling a blush creep up over his cheeks “It’s fine! I’ll do it myself”

Percival stops and squints at him, dark eyebrows pulled together until they almost merge with his eyes “Is everything okay? Was it something I said-?”

“Everything is fine” squawks Credence, scrambling with his hand behind his back until he finds the door handle. Once he does, he pushes immediately, pulls the door open, and steps through it, throwing a half-mumbled ‘See you at breakfast’ at Percival, before he closes it back again.

He flees down the corridor, like a coward, all the while ineffectively trying to unknot his tie. Percival can be mad at him later, if he wants. Credence is not prepared to discuss his feelings with him, at barely eight in the morning, while he is wearing nothing but that poor excuse of a towel. If he did, he fears he would end up vomiting all the secret, sinful desires he has been bottling up for weeks now, and he does not need to be told, once again, how much that is not going to happen.

He is so focused on his tie, and mis messy, stupid feelings, that he almosts runs straight into Mrs.Graves.

“Easy there, dear” Mrs.Graves says, clasping a deceptively strong hand on his arm to steady him “What’s this rush so early in the morning?”

“I, I, uh, I… was searching for the kitchen…?” he stammers out, blushing furiously, and tugging insistently at the damned tie, still awkwardly knotted around his neck “F-for breakfast…?”

“Of course” Mrs.Graves agrees, smiling warmly at him “Say, dear, would you mind having Breakfast with Lance and poor old me? We would love to have the chance to get to know you better”

“I...uhm, yes?” Breakfast with Mr. and Mrs.Graves sounds as appealing to Credence as discussing his feelings with a half-naked Percival did, but there seems to be no easy, polite way to reject Mrs.Graves’ invitation without looking rude and ungrateful.

Mrs. Graves smiles brightly back at him, weaves her arm with his, and gently leads him through endless corridors to a small, private balcony overseeing the lake. There is a round table, already set for breakfast for three. Mr. Graves is sat next to it, calmly sipping from his cup as he browses the newest edition of _The New York Ghost_. Credence cannot help but feel he has just been caught in some kind of trap.

“Lance, dear” Mrs.Graves calls her husband “Look who I found wandering around the house. Credence has politely agreed to share his breakfast with us”

Mr.Graves does not look surprised in the slightest at Credence’s presence, promptly folding his newspaper and standing up to extend him a hand.

“I’m so glad you could join us, my boy” Mr.Graves says, as he shakes Credence’s hand, his grip firm and steady despite his age.

“It is my pleasure” replies Credence, doing his best not to betray the slow panic rising up inside him.

Mrs.Graves gestures for him to sit down, and calmly starts filling up his plate the moment he does, as Mr.Graves looks on, an amused half-smile on his lips. Just like during the dinner on Credence’s first night at the Estate, the Graves keep their questions polite and unobtrusive, focusing more on his new experiences with the wizarding world than on the details of his relationship with Percival. It is nice. The food is delicious, the conversation agreeable, and the views from the balcony are stunning. Credence feels himself relax for the first time since he left New York.

And that is why Mrs.Graves’s question catches him completely unprepared.

“So, whose idea was it to stage a fake engagement? Percival or Seraphina’s?”

Credence chokes on his coffee, spraying it all over his plate as he coughs. Mr. and Mrs.Graves barely raise an eyebrow, calmly sipping their drinks as they watch Credence try and put himself together.

“E-excuse me?” he stutters out, as he frantically wipes his nose and chin.

“No need to play coy, boy” advises Mr. Graves, his blue eyes fixed on Credence with unwavering intensity. Credence hunches his shoulders to get away from their scrutiny.

“I-I don’t know what you mean-” starts Credence, looking fixedly at his plate to avoid the Graves’ penetrating stares.

“The engagement is a farce” Mrs.Graves says. Credence sees her dip a cookie in her tea, once, twice, before bringing it to her mouth and delicately nibbling on it “A ploy, if you like, to minimise the scandal of those blasted photos. Do you deny it?”

Credence hesitantly raises his gaze, looking at her from underneath his lashes. Mrs.Graves stares back, her beautiful doe eyes calm and steady. Percival’s eyes. Credence lowers his gaze again, nervously biting his lower lip.

He shakes his head.

“So, boy, who was it? Percy or Seraphina?” Mr.Graves prompts him again.

Credence opens his mouth. Hesitates. Closes it again.

“This has Seraphina written all over it” snorts Mrs.Graves “No need to cover for her, Credence, dear. I’ve known Seraphina since she was a spotty teenager, leading Percy around by the nose from one harebrained scheme to another. They’ve always been thick as thieves those two, since their days at Ilvermorny. Full of talent and ambition, and not an ounce of common sense between them”

“What was the game plan?” Mr. Graves questions him again “Break off the engagement once the election was over?”

Credence shakes his head “Madame President wanted to wait until the time was right”

“Well, that simply won’t do” Mrs.Graves declares. Her husband nods along with conviction “Fake or not, this engagement is the closest we’ve come to marrying Percy off. I’m not letting this chance escape. Merlin knows the boy is not getting any younger”

Credence stares at her. Surely they cannot intend to…

“We’ll force Percy to marry you” Mr.Graves tells him, confirming that, yes, they definitely intend to “If you’ll have him, of course. We understand you have found yourself an unwitting party in this whole affair, but, if you do not find the idea of marrying our bonehead of a son too distasteful-”

“No at all” blurts out Credence, before he can stop himself, and immediately blushes at his own admission.

“Oh” Mr.Graves blinks at him “Good”

“It’s settled then” smiles Mrs.Graves, cheerfully refilling her cup of tea “We’ll handle Percy. He can be a bit stubborn, especially about his so-called ‘independence’, but I’ll get him to come round. You just let us take care of it”

“I can’t” whispers Credence. He wants to marry Percival. Of course he does, he is in love with the man, has been for months. Marrying him would be like a dream come true. But the thing he wants most in the world is not to become Credence Graves.

The thing he most desperately wants is for Percival to love him back.

And he does not.

“He- I- I couldn’t do that to Percival” he tells a perplexed Mr. and Mrs.Graves “I won’t. Percival doesn’t want to marry me” he admits. Percival doesn’t want him, period. He swallows around the painful bitterness clogging his throat “And I would hate to force him to do something that would make him unhappy. I’m sorry”

Silence greets his declaration. Credence fidgets anxiously with his tie, head bowed low and shoulders tense. He hopes he has not offended the Graves too terribly.

“Well” Mr.Graves breaks the silence “I’m definitely going to make sure this marriage happens, now, even if I have to drag Percy to the altar myself”

Credence blinks “Mr.Graves-” he starts, only to be shushed by Mrs.Graves.

“We understand your position, dear” she says, smiling fondly at him and patting his hand “We also want nothing more than to see our son happily married to someone who truly loves him. And you- oh dear, you would renounce marrying the man you clearly love just so he can be happy. As a mother, I could not wish for a better partner for my son”

“You are too kind, Mrs.Graves” murmurs Credence, lowering his gaze embarrassed “But I can’t-”

“Shush, you don’t need to do anything” Mrs.Graves insists “Leave it to us. We’ll make sure Percy comes to his senses”

Credence looks at her and her husband. They both stare back, fond and determined. Nothing he can say will change their minds, not now, at least. He sighs. “Fine” he agrees, feeling shame curl, hot and bitter, on his stomach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... That had less bed-sharing than I initially planned, but also more kissing and touchy-feely scenes, so it kind of evens out. I had to cut the bed sharing short because the chapter was already ridiculosly long.
> 
> I hope you guys liked my take on the Graves. I have never had to write so many OC's before in my life, it's been a fun experience.
> 
> Up next: Ilvermorny, the Campaign Trail, and an epiphany. (Also: both the Goldsteins and the Picqueries return) I would love to promise a faster update this time, but I need to work on my Star Wars!AU and, from my notes, Chapter 6 looks like it's gonna be another monster so... End of May, I guess?
> 
> Let me know your thoughts, please. I'm a vain, greedy creature, and comments literally give me life. You can also come shout at me at tumblr [dailandin](https://dailandin.tumblr.com/)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the delay on this one!! Lots of work and social engagements on these last weeks, so my writing time has been quite limited. Also, as seems to be the trend, the chapter ended up way longer than expected.
> 
> Thank you all for your comments and support, they helped me get my ass sat down in front of the computer and work on getting this done when I was tired/distracted.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

**_Excerpt from “The Wizarding Affairs Radio Show. Hosted by: Wilfur Pemblebee”_ **

_“-with just three months to go before the general election, both parties are now getting ready to hit the Campaign Trail in full force, after months of New York-based action. Presidential hopeful Bertonius Osmander kicked off his nationwide campaign yesterday with a populated rally in Miami, while current President Seraphina Picquery will do the same today, at the traditional Ilvermorny Fundraiser. Dorina, what should we expect from this event?”_

_“Well, Wilfur, the Ilvermorny Fundraiser is the biggest event for the President’s Campaign in the East Coast and, as such, it will be the one most likely to attract big names to it. However, I’m afraid this year the attention won’t be on President Picquery’s sponsors, but rather on her right-hand man, Director Graves, and his fiancée, Credence Barebone, with the Fundraiser marking their return to the Campaign after a week-long absence”_

_“Has Picquery’s team offered any explanation for said absence?”_

_“A statement was released a week and a half ago, declaring Director Graves would not participate on upcoming Campaign acts, due to family commitments. Independent sources confirmed both Tristan and Nimué Graves also took a leave of absence this past week”_

_“A Graves family reunion, then. Do we have any idea on what may have prompted it?”_

_“Only speculation so far. It has been noted by a few former analysts that the Graves had not attended any Campaign acts since the scandal with The Ghost pictures. Some speculated the engagement was not to the family’s liking. A few even went as far as to say Director Graves was facing disinheritance for his actions.”_

_“Any truth to those rumors?”_

_“I would say not. The Ghost recently reported Lancelot Graves just booked the Grand Ballroom at The Plaza for next Spring. Considering that’s the venue where both Tristan and Nimué Graves tied the knot with their respective partners, I believe it’s safe to assume we have just been given the date and venue for Director Graves’ upcoming wedding”_

_“I don’t know if a wedding venue is enough to confirm the Graves’ support to Picquery’s Campaign…”_

_“Tristan Graves has reportedly donated over thirty thousand Dragots to Picquery’s Campaign. The Wolfharts also made a considerable donation of twenty five thousand Dragots. All in this last week, and at personal level. Graves Bank has been one of the official sponsors for the Campaign since its very beginnings. Everything points to Director Graves having the full support of his family, malicious rumors notwithstanding.”_

_“Indeed. Well, I for one, will definitely be looking forward to the wedding, especially if Graves and Picquery win the election. There’s nothing like a good, high-society wedding to spice things up, now-”_

***

“I take your family approved of Mr. Barebone” Seraphina comments, lightly sipping from her flute of gigglewater.

Percival hums noncommittally, nursing his tumbler of firewhisky as he follows her gaze. Down in the Great Hall, Credence is conversing animatedly with Nim and Rossalind, baby Bor deftly held in his arms. He looks at ease. Relaxed. Gone is the nervous slouching of his first Galas, and the constant blushing.

“Both Nimué and Tristan have made very generous donations” Seraphina continues, reclining against the wooden balustrade “They will go a long way towards quelling any rumors of familial discord, as will their presence here today. I can see your sister is even letting Mr. Barebone hold her latest spawn, she must really like him”

“Credence has taken quite a shine to Bor, I dare say he may be his favorite Graves” Percival says, smiling lightly. He takes another long swallow of his drink, welcoming the hot burn of it down his throat. He adds “Can’t say I blame him, Bor is my favorite relative at the moment, as well”

Seraphina nods, distractedly, gaze still trained on Credence, brow slightly furrowed, as if in thought “It suits him” she says. There is a calculating edge to her words that puts Percival on alert.

“What suits him?” Percival carefully asks, looking back at Credence as he laughs at something Nim just said, Bor chortling happily over his shoulder.

“This. Holding a baby.” Seraphina says, vaguely waving a hand in Credence’s direction “And he’s good at it. The midget seems to be having a jolly good time”

“Bor likes everyone” Percival replies, eyeing Seraphina speculatively. She better not be planning to add an adopted anklebiter to their charade. There are limits.

“Still, it’s decided” declares Seraphina “Mr. Barebone will be taking on ‘Baby Holding and Kissing Duties’ for the rest of the campaign”

“Shouldn’t you be doing it?”

“Don’t be ridiculous” Seraphina snorts “You know I’m allergic”

Percival sighs “I don’t want Mamá and Papá to get ideas”

“Your father booked The Plaza, Percival. I dare say they are already getting ideas” Seraphina sounds delightfully amused by the whole thing.

Percival groans “Don’t remind me. I had to rescue Credence after they abducted him for breakfast on the second day, poor boy looked shell-shocked after the whole thing. Merlin knows what they must have told him.”

Seraphina snorts into her drink, no longer trying to hide how hilarious she finds the whole ordeal. Percival glares at her. He struggles to find the fun in it. After making her opinions on the manner of his engagement clear, Mamá has now fully thrown herself into full wedding planning mood. Just the other day, Percival caught her showing a poor, overwhelmed Credence a book filled with samples of potential color schemes. And Papá is not falling behind either. After booking The Plaza (without even asking Percival’s permission), he spent a full afternoon lecturing him on his future duties as a husband.

Percival desperately wishes he could erase some parts of that conversation from his mind. It included far more information about his parent’s private lives than he ever wanted (or needed) to know.

“I don’t know how we will ever manage the breakup” Percival confesses “There is no way Mamá and Papá will quietly accept a broken engagement without kicking up a fuss” Going by their reaction to the engagement itself and how taken they seem to be with Credence, they will not accept a broken engagement, period.

“We will cross that bridge when we get there” Seraphina tells him “I will find a way, I promise. I just need you to trust me”

Percival looks at her.  She is staring down at the Great Hall once again, face carefully composed in a calm, but determined expression. Percival has always trusted Seraphina to know how to get them out any situation they end up in. He has trusted her since they were scrawny first years in Ilvermorny, sitting in Professor Hawkebridge’s office for sneaking into the Potion supplies cabinet, and Seraphina convinced the Professor to let them go without as much as a note for bad behavior.

“I do trust you” Percival says “It’s just- This is a damn fine mess I am in now.”

Seraphina twists her mouth in annoyance “May I remind you got into this mess all on your own? I just offered you a way out that didn’t involve public humiliation” she snaps at him “Oh, don’t give me the eyebrows. You know full well I’m right”

Percival sighs heavily, closing his eyes “I know” he says “Merlin, I know”

“As long as you are aware” Seraphina says “Oh, I see Villanueva is giving us the stink eye. I guess we better go back down and mingle, we will have plenty of time to discuss your upcoming nuptials and how to avoid them on the Trail” She pats his shoulder as she makes her way to the staircase, leaving him alone on the balcony.

***

“I see you are abstaining from alcohol this evening, my dear” Percival whispers, as he slides up to Credence’s side, enjoying the way the young man blushes at his words.

“Percival!” Credence exclaims in surprise, voice just an octave too high. Bor, half asleep against his shoulder, glances up briefly to gurgle a greeting at Percival.

“I see Nim has roped you in, yet again, to play babysitter” Percival comments, sliding an arm around the small of Credence back and dropping a kiss on his temple. He can hear the sound off several cameras flashing on the background. Tomorrow there will probably be a dozen articles speculating on their adoption prospects.

“I don’t mind” Credence says, hostling Bor a bit higher over his shoulder “He’s not fussy. And he acts as a wonderful conversation deterrent” he admits, ducking his head and smiling slightly “I just need to mention a nappy change and even the most stubborn gossips will scatter in seconds.”

Percival chuckles “Sneaky. Very politically savvy on your part”

Credence shrugs, as if to brush off the compliment, but his reddening ears betray his satisfaction. “Your mother mentioned that as well”

“Mamá?” Percival asks

Credence hums in agreement “She has been keeping me company most of the night”

Percival frowns at that. While he is glad that Mamá has taken a liking to Credence, she has also proven to be a bit too enthusiastic in her affections “Has she been pestering you about the wedding again? I can speak to her-”

“No, no” hurries to assure him Credence, face pinched. He gets the same look every time the wedding is mentioned “She was just telling me about the school’s history, with this being my first time here, and all...” he trails off, looking wistfully at the vaulted ceiling of the Great Hall.

“Oh” Credence never attended Ilvermorny. Percival mentally kicks himself for not remembering it earlier. Credence has become such an intrinsic part of his everyday life that sometimes it is hard to remember he was not raised in their world.

“This is the room where the sorting takes place, right?” Credence asks “Mrs. Graves said you were sorted into Wampus, buckling family tradition, apparently”

“I was offered Horned Serpent as well” Percival says “But Tristan was already there, and he was the most infuriatingly overprotective older brother ever. I thought picking Wampus would allow me a bit more freedom”

“Did it work?”

Percival sighs “Not really. It just encouraged him further. He walked me to class for the whole of the first week” Tristan had claimed the whole Wampus house to be filled with ‘uncivilised, brute barbarians’, and had insisted on dragging Percival to the Horned Serpent common room after classes. “It wasn’t all that bad, though. I became friends with Seraphina thanks to him”

(She had approached him one afternoon, while he sulked alone in the Horned Serpent common room, Tristan too busy composing terribly embarrassing poetry for Rossalind to pay him any attention.

“You wanna get out of the cage, Wampus boy?” she said.

Percival had eyed her warily for a moment, taking in her worn robes and scuffed shoes, and wrinkling his nose in distaste. He had been a monumental snob on his first year, and accepting help from a nobody witch from Savannah, had ranked him something bad. The fact that she had been the only student on their year to get accepted into all four houses, only made it worse.

“Fine” he snapped, ungraciously taking the offered hand as if he was the one granting the favour.

The rest, as they say, is history. Percival and Seraphina became inseparable from that moment on, while Tristan had to deal with Mamá’s howlers for not taking care of his little brother every time Percival ended up in detention.

Which was often.)

“What happens if no house wants you?”

Percival sharply turns to stare at Credence. He is gazing up at the four statues, longing plain on his face, as he worries at his lower lip. “Everyone gets chosen” Percival says “Most people get offered two houses, at least. Only scary overachievers like Seraphina get offered all four”

“But,” Credence presses on “what if no house wants you? What if someone is not worthy?”

Percival sighs “You not getting your Ilvermorny letter had nothing to do with your supposed ‘worth’, and everything to do with MACUSA’s own incompetence, you know that, right?”

Credence shrugs, avoiding Percival’s gaze. He either did not know, or refuses to believe it. Percival does not know which one is more heartbreaking.

He has never questioned his right to belong in the Wizarding World. He has never had any reason to. Born to one of the most powerful Wizarding families in North America, he has lived and breathed magic since the moment he drew his first breath in Wilkinson’s Maternity Ward. He made his teddy bear fly when he was three. He got his Ilvermorny letter at eleven. At eighteen he graduated second of his class. He made Auror at twenty one, youngest one since Salem. By thirty-five he had already raised to the top of his profession and was appointed Director of MLE. Magic has always been there for him, welcoming, easy to use, well within his grasp.

Credence did not even know magic existed until a few months ago. He did not get spotted by MACUSA officers when he was a child. He did not get a letter to Ilvermorny. The Wizarding World would have effectively passed him by if not for Percival’s failure to keep their relationship professional and their meetings private.

It surely ranks Credence, more than he is willing to admit, that the discovery of his magic happened by accident.

Now, Percival may not be able to give Credence back the years he lost living under that crazy harridan’s thumb, or make up for the loss of not being able to attend Ilvermorny. But he will be damned if he lets Credence first and only impression of Ilvermorny be that of a room filled with meddling politicians and snobbish socialites scrambling for favours and attention.

“Come with me” he says, grabbing Credence’s hand and pulling him along.

“Come- where are we going?” Credence asks. He keeps glancing around, a faint, worried, crease between his eyebrows “Percival, I don’t think the President will be happy if we leave the party now, you have yet to speak with half the sponsors, and-” he frantically whispers, even as he lets himself be dragged across the room.

Percival ignores him, just as he ignores Seraphina’s exasperated glare from across the room, and Nim’s all-too-knowing wink, when he unceremoniously drops Bor off on her on their way out.

He leads them through the obnoxiously decorated doors of the Great Hall, past the party guests milling around on the side galleries, and into the deserted, silent corridors of the Lecturing Rooms Wing. Their steps echo in the emptiness of the hallways, and their shadows drag, long and dark, behind them, as the torches on the walls magically lit themselves along the corridor.

“Percival, where are you taking me?” Credence asks again, his voice a mere whisper. It still resonates loudly in the dark emptiness of the corridor. Credence flinches almost imperceptibly and glances back, as if worried Seraphina is going to appear out of thin air to chastise them for skipping the party without authorisation.

“It’s a surprise” Percival says, throwing what he hopes looks like a reassuring smile at Credence “Do you trust me?”

Credence smiles weakly back at him, before hesitantly nodding his head “Of course” he says, firmly squeezing Percival’s hand. He looks so earnest and sincere as he says it that Percival feels something twist painfully in his gut. Nothing in his behavior during the eight months of their acquaintance should have been enough to inspire such unconditional loyalty. On the contrary, between his early selfishness and the rude avoidance of the first months of the charade, Credence would have been well in his right to take anything Percival says with a pinch of salt.

This level of unabashed trust is more than mildly upsetting.

Percival awkwardly clears his throat and turns his eyes away from Credence’s way too honest gaze, as he continues to lead them through Ilvermorny’s labyrinthian corridors and staircases. Credence’s hand is warm, his grip, unwavering, long, graceful fingers interlaced through Percival’s own ones. His mind unhelpfully reminds him how those clever fingers felt when wrapped around more intimate parts of his body, their touch hesitant and inexperienced, yet determined. Credence’s mouth pliant and hot under his, pupils blown wide with desire, and a flush going all the way down to his chest. He can feel the back of his neck grow hot at the memories, and finds himself immensely grateful for the dim lighting of the corridor.

“Here we are” he says on spotting the door he was looking for. He casts a wandless, half-mumbled Alohomora and pushes it open, extending his arm courteously for Credence to enter “Welcome to the Astronomical Observatory” he says as he follows him inside.

The Observatory had always been Percival’s favourite room in Ilvermorny. Situated on one of the top floors, it is a large, round room, with bare white walls, filled with pillows of all shapes and sizes scattered all around the floor. On one side, there is a glass cabinet containing old, delicate looking instruments and star charts, next to it a row of shelves hosts the students’ telescopes, all neatly aligned. The most impressive feature, though, is the ceiling. It has been enchanted to look like a clear sky at night, no matter the time, the season or the weather.

Credence stares at it transfixed, mouth opened in awe as he slowly steps further into the room, any remaining worries he may have had about abandoning the Gala and ditching Seraphina to fend of political vultures on her own, completely gone.

“This is where we took our Astronomy classes” Percival explains, lowering himself into the pile of cushions on the floor. His knees creak badly as he does it, and he needs to squish some extra pillows to support his lower back. Out of the corner of his eyes he can see Credence still wandering around the room. “The ceiling is enchanted to look like that all the time, so we could have our lessons any time of the day. The professor could also change it to reflect the stars from other parts of the world, I’m afraid I don’t know the spell for it, otherwise I would show you”

“It’s amazing” Credence whispers. Percival cannot see his face from where he is laying down, but there is no mistaking the clear wonder in his voice. He smiles satisfied.

“Apparently they have a similar charm in Hogwarts” he says “That’s Great Britain’s Wizarding School. The ceiling of their Dining Hall is charmed to mimic the sky outside. Don’t much see the point of it, though, especially considering Scotland’s sky is covered by clouds most of the time, but then again, nothing Theseus ever told me about Hogwarts made much sense at all. There’s moving staircases, apparently. Ilvermorny is much more sensible, more modern.”

He tells Credence about laying down on the pillows during Astronomy class, as Professor Wibble drew patterns amongst the stars over their heads. He tells him about that time in Charms when Seraphina spelled his eyebrows pink for a whole week, and the time Professor Oman transfigured both of them into hamsters for failing to pay attention in Advanced Transfiguration. He tells Credence about the dorms, about banquets in the Great Hall, and afternoons spent running around the grounds.

He is just starting to explain ‘Quidditch’, when a loud, thundering, crack explodes across the room, followed by the sound of glass shattering and metal clanking to the ground. Percival quickly pushes himself up from the ground, ignoring the sharp twinge of his back, and frantically looks around the room.

Credence is standing, paralyzed with fear, next to what had previously been the Devices Cabinet. Only tatters of it remain now. A massive, deep gouge bisects the wall and half the floor, mortar and stone cracked as if torn open by an earthquake. The metallic panels of the Cabinet have been twisted and bent beyond recognition, the glass doors lay shattered on the ground, with what looks like the smashed remnants of the devices previously contained within.

“What  in Merlin’s Holy Name…?” Percival says as he stares at the destruction before him.

“I’m so sorry!” blurts out Credence, anxiously wringing his hands. He looks scared out of his mind, face bone white and eyes wide.

“You’re sorry…?” Percival asks dumbfounded as to what could Credence possibly be apologising about. The destruction wrought to the room is far beyond what his skills as a just initiated wizards should be, there is no way-

“I lost control” Credence rushes out, hunching his shoulders and curling into himself “I- I don’t know- I didn’t mean to, but- all the stories, it all sounded so great, and I- and I- I felt angry. For not having that, it’s... I know it’s stupid, but I-”

“It’s not stupid” Percival says, cautiously approaching him. Now that he is closer he can see Credence’s eyes are quickly filling with tears, as he trembles with fear and shame “It’s not stupid” he repeats, dragging Credence’s trembling form into his arms, one hand guiding his head to rest on his shoulder, the other drawing slow, reassuring circles into his back.

Credence’s hands immediately clutch at his shoulder, pulling at the fabric of his suit jacket, as he presses his face against the crook of his neck. Percival can feel the tears, warm and wet, just above the collar of his shirt. Credence cries silently, his back shaking slightly with each choked sob.

“It’s normal to wish for things to have been different” Percival says, smoothing a hand over Credence’s hair in calming motion “They _should_ have been different. What happened to you was completely unfair and undeserved, you have every right in the world to be angry”

“I wish I could have gone to Ilvermorny” Credence says, hiccuping slightly, his voice breaking at the end.

“I know” Percival says, kissing the top of his head “I know”

He can only imagine how upset Credence must be right now that the true extent of his loss is becoming clearer to him. Anger is a common trigger for uncontrolled magic in younger wizards and witches and, while Credence is no longer a kid, it would not be that unusual for his magic to manifest in such a way. The level of destruction can probably be attributed to his age, since magic power grows over the years. Despite his lack of proper training Credence has probably far more raw power than an average child.

Eventually, Credence calms down enough for Percival to let him go and focus on trying to repair the room. A simple Reparo is unlikely to do the trick, he muses, tapping his wand against his thigh as he surveys the damage. There are too many magical objects involved on the mess. He is mentally sorting out through other repairing spells he knows, when Credence pulls at his sleeve.

“Someone is coming” he says “I heard voices down the corridor”

Percival stops and listens. The faint sounds of conversation can be heard drifting through the wall. He looks around the devastated room. There is no way he will be able to wave it off as a simple magic accident, especially not with half of MACUSA’s Press Corps down the hall, avid for juicy news and gossip. Not to mention Seraphina will have his head if he brings any more unwanted attention to himself. They cannot be found in here.

“This way” he says, pulling Credence along with him as he opens a small side door at the back of the room.

“We can’t just leave it like that!” complains Credence.

“I’ll make a donation” replies Percival, walking briskly into a small side corridor “Let them build a new Observatory. We could have it named in your honor, even”

“Don’t be ridiculous” Credence says, but Percival can see a pleased blush spread across his cheeks even in the dim lights of the corridor.

He is about to comment on it when the sound of tiny, padded feet running towards them echoes through the walls.

“Pukwudgies” Percival mutters “Someone must have alerted them to the chaos in the Observatory”

“I thought Pukwudgies were magical creatures, what are they doing in Il-” Credence does not get a chance to finish as Percival opens the door closest to them, and unceremoniously shoves him in, following swiftly after and promptly closing the door behind their backs.

The room they enter is incredibly small, and completely pitch black. Percival needs to cast a soft _Lumos_ to be able to see anything beyond the tip of his nose. The first thing he sees is Credence, looking a disturbing mix of distraught and angry.

“What the Hell, Percival” Credence frantically whispers, panic giving a strained edge to his voice “What is this room?”

“I don’t know” Percival says, raising his wand a bit higher and giving just a tad more strength to his _Lumos_ spell, the darkness in the room is so thick the light from the spell barely penetrates it at all. Credence’s face is half submerged in shadows, despite having the wand almost up his nose “I just picked it because it was the closest” he turns around slowly, wand raised in front of him. He squints in the dark to make out what the undefined shapes in front of him are, long, and thing, around his shoulder’s height… “Oh. A supply closet”

“A supply closet” Credence echoes.

“Yes. The small corridor we just came from is part of a larger network of side corridors that cover the whole school. The side corridors are mostly used by the local Pukwudgie clan to go about their maintenance duties, although they are well known to all older students as a way to… uhm, get some quiet and privacy”

Percival had spent a lot of time in the side corridors during his Sixth and Seventh Years, although he cannot exactly remember this supply closet in particular, having himself been more partial to the laundry room on the third floor, as it made for a much more comfortable bed. He glances around again. The darkness seems to have finally started to recede, and he can now make out the neat row of auto-cleaning brooms on the wall, as well as some high shelves filled with a colorful variety of cleaning balms and potions.

“Why would students want to spend time in a dark, danky corridor?” Credence asks, looking around in honest confusion “Wouldn’t the Library be better for studying?”

Percival coughs awkwardly “It is not- studying, exactly. More like, uh, private encounters”

“Private enc-” Credence starts, brows slightly furrowed in confusion, and then stops himself abruptly, as realisation dawns on him “Oh”

“Yeah” Percival agrees, rubbing the back of his neck.

Credence looks nervously around, feet shuffling in place, and hands sliding nervously up on down his thighs. He clears his throat, the sound seeming louder than it really is in the silence of the room. “So” he starts, pointedly staring at an indeterminate point above Percival’s right ear “Supply closets”

“I preferred the laundry room myself” Percival blurts out “More comfortable”

Credence’s eyes snap back to his, and he abruptly goes bright red, from his neck to the top of his ears, before hurriedly looking away again. This time his gaze darts wildly around the room, as he visibly struggles for something to say.

Percival is about to open his mouth and change the topic to help Credence out of the hole of embarrassment he has dug for himself, but Credence beats him to it.

“Did you have many laundry partners?” he asks in a rush, blushing even more furiously, and scrunching his eyes shut afterwards, visibly cringing at his own forwardness.

Percival blinks once, twice “Are you asking about my past lovers?” he cannot keep a note of teasing from entering his voice.

Credence nods jerkily, jaw stubbornly set, as he stares back at him.

“I had three girlfriends and one boyfriend while in Ilvermorny”

Credence seems to ruminate his response for a moment, before he speaks out again “Were you ever found out? I mean, when you were- uh, doing laundry”

Percival snorts “Only once. I forgot my underwear in a broom closet after the, uh... After. William found it and hung it up on the Lost and Missing Objects noticeboard, the petty bastard”

“But he didn’t know it was yours…”

“It was engraved with the Graves family crest” Credence lets out a small giggle, and immediately covers his mouth with his hand, looking mildly alarmed “You can laugh. Seraphina certainly did.”

Credence lowers his hand and smiles shyly at him. The edge of his lips curl up in the most delightful way. Percival cannot resist smiling back.

“Did you collect it?” Credence asks.

“You know, I would love to say I honored the name of the Wampus House and went up there, with no fear or shame, and picked my underwear, but I hesitated for so long that, by the time I had made up my mind, Seraphina had already grabbed it”

“The President? Why would she want your dirty underwear?”

“She auctioned it off. Made quite a hefty sum out of it, I believe. I don’t know which pervert ended up winning, but I do hope they enjoyed it”

Credence bursts out laughing at that. Eyes squeezed almost shut and slightly crinkled at the edges. He has an awkward laugh, unpractised and just a tad too loud. Still, it is a nice laugh, Percival notes. And then frowns when he realises this is the first time he hears it.

Too caught up in his amusement Credence almost knocks down a set of cabinets, and Percival quickly reaches out to steady him, grabbing his arm and, without realising it, bringing them close together. Credence’s laughter peters out as he stares cross-eyed at Percival, their noses mere inches apart.

(When Percival was fifteen Samantha Roche invited him to the the Winter’s Ball. Only Sixth and Seventh years were allowed, younger students could only gain entry if invited. Percival, the only Fifth year to receive the honor, had instantly become the envy of all his classmates, and not only because of the invite, but also who it had come from. Samantha Roche had arguably been the prettiest girl in Ilvermorny, with dark, wavy hair, soulful green eyes and a body out of a teenage boy’s fantasies.

During the Ball Samantha had taken Percival into a small broom closet, not unlike the one he finds himself in right now, and kissed him on the mouth, with tongue and all. Her mouth had been wet, lips plush and soft, and she smelt like the first day of Spring. Percival had felt hazy with desire, face burning and body alight with want. Every brush of her tongue had sent a wave of heat pooling, warm and thick, into his gut. Samantha had grabbed his hand and pressed it, hard, against her breast, and Percival had come embarrassingly fast into his pants. Untouched.)

Staring back at Credence, their breaths mingling together in the almost inexistent space between their faces, Percival feels exactly the same way he felt the night he got to touch Samantha Roche’s breast for the first time. His pulse quickens and his skin suddenly feels too tight, palms sweaty where they still clutch Credence’s shoulders. He cannot help his gaze drifting down towards Credence’s mouth, and catches just a hint of pink tongue, darting out to wet the inviting lips. His breath hitches at the sight.

“Percival…” Credence says, voice hoarse and eyes unfocused. His pupils are blown wide, drowning out the brown on his eyes “Percival” he repeats, sounding wrecked.

Percival should pull away, now that there is still time, but his hands clutch to Credence’s shoulders as if they were a lifeline, and he cannot seem to tear his eyes apart from Credence’s face, as he slowly starts to lean in.

The old burn of desire that first prompted him to ignore Rappaport’s Law, and take Credence into his bed, flares up within him with a vengeance. He wants to taste Credence’s lips again, he wants to kiss him until he is left panting for breath, no witnesses, no pretence, and no holds barred.

He has not wanted anything so much in his life.

He feels his resolve start to crumble like a deck of cards, when the doors of the closet burst open with a slam.

“There you are!” exclaims Nim, standing outside in the corridor, and looking mighty pissed off. Percival immediately jumps back to try and put some space between himself and Credence, before his brain kicks in and reminds him that it would not be surprising (or even new) to be caught in a compromising position with his supposed fiancée.

“Nim” he says, arranging his clothes with as much dignity as possible “William” he adds, on spotting the angry, wrinkled Pukwudgie standing next to his sister.

William sends him a withering glare “The Grumpy Graves” he says, with a small nod of acknowledgement. As always, Percival bristles at being called ‘Grumpy’ by a creature whose face seems to be stuck on a permanent downwards frown, as if it were being pulled down by Earth’s Gravity itself.

“I see old habits die hard” continues the Pukuwdgie, looking behind Percival at Credence, who stares back him with unabashed curiosity “Make sure you don’t forget your pants this time, boy”

“Don’t you have some old statues to go polish?” snaps Percival, making William’s face contort in aggravated anger.

“Don’t you have some donors to impress?” Nim says, before the Pukwudgie can formulate a reply “I thought you were taking a quick break, but you were gone for two hours, and now I find you necking with your fiancée in some random broom closet like teenagers. Kinky, Percy.”

“We were not- I wanted to give Credence a tour of Ilvermorny” Percival defends himself. He does not appreciate being told of like a naughty school boy by his little sister and the schools’ glorified janitor.

“Yeah, looked like you were giving him a good tour, back there” snorts William. Percival resolutely ignores him as he helps Credence out of the closet.

“Let’s go back to the Party, there should be a good hour left before it’s over” he says “Enough time for me to schmooze up to some big wigs to keep Seraphina from stabbing me with a dessert spoon for abandoning her”

***

For Percival Ilvermorny is the straw that breaks the proverbial camel's back. It is like a fire has lit within him, and no matter how much he tries, he cannot extinguish it. He hungers for Credence like a man starved, relishing every look, every touch, every word they exchange. Their relationship charade becomes both his greatest delight and his greatest torment for, while he gets to kiss and hold Credence as lover would while they are in public, the pretence inevitably falls away the moment they are alone, leaving Percival aching and wanting.

He makes sure to take full advantage of every chance offered by their charade, playing up the part of the devoted fiancée for all it is worth. And, if his hand lingers a bit too low on Credence’s back, or his kisses drag on for a moment too long, well, it is not like anyone can blame him for enjoying what little he is allowed. Or so he tells himself as he studiously ignores Tina’s accusing glares every time he kisses Credence, focusing instead on the soft, languorous movement of his lips, and the way his eyes flutter half-shut when Percival pulls away. He is well aware he is a greedy, reckless, and stupid, old man, too caught up on a pantomime, he does not need Tina to remind him of his own shortcomings or the fact that this could all come crashing down in the most spectacular manner.

The worst part of the whole mess is that he knows he could have it all, if he wanted to. Despite what Seraphina may like to believe, he is not an oblivious fool. He has noticed the way Credence looks at him. He knows if he just says the right words, if he just takes a kiss that little bit further, Credence will gladly take him up on it. It is clear in the naked longing on his face, as he watches Percival leave their room every morning, it is clear in the way he chases after every touch as if pulled by an invisible magnet, and in the soft sighs that escape his lips after a kiss. If Percival wanted (and, oh, Merlin, does he ever) they could pick up right where they left off. Just a word, and Credence would be his for the taking.

But Percival already walked down that road once. Back when they first met and Credence was just a pretty boy, too starved for affection to question the motives of an older, wealthier man offering him a pitiful bit of comfort. He had had no problem taking what he wanted back then. He had taken, and taken, and taken, without a single thought to spare, until he had dragged Credence into a political mess and broken his heart in the process.

He will not be so selfish again. He will not take anything until he is sure he is willing to give everything in return. He owes Credence that much at least. In the meantime, he will try and quell his want with innocent, stolen kisses, and endure the sweet, tantalising torture that is sharing a bed with Credence every night.

(The first nights they shared, Credence had been shy, lying curled up on the edge of the bed, barely moving or making a sound. As weeks past, he started to relax, slowly taking up more and more space on the bed, and drifting closer to Percival.

On their first night in Texas, Percival woke up to Credence humping his leg in his sleep with wild abandon. Unwilling to awaken the boy and cause him further embarrassment, Percival had muttered a quick, wandless _Flaccidus_ for both of them that, while effectively averting a potentially embarrassing morning, did nothing to prevent his very vivid dreams or the situation from repeating itself a few nights down the line.

A little over a month into the Campaign Trail, Percival is now starting to worry over the potential side effects a continuous use of the blasted spell could have over both their libidos)

Of course, it would also be way easier to manage his stupidly tangled up mess of feelings, if Mamá and Papá could contain their unbridled enthusiasm for his supposedly upcoming nuptials, just a little bit. All those wedding plans are making it incredibly hard for Percival to focus on keeping the fake relationship purely platonic.

_***_

_The Graves Estate, Vermont, 28th August 1926_

_Dear Percy,_

_I hope this letter finds you well._

_First of all, your Father and I would like to congratulate you on your work on the Campaign. We have been dutifully following the coverage over the wireless and_ The Ghost _and, although Mr. Pemblebee’s programme leaves something to be desired in terms of journalistic values, everything seems to point towards Seraphina and yourself winning by a landslide. We could not be prouder._

_On the other hand, I must say I would appreciate it if you gave your own wedding half the interest and dedication you seem to give your political career. I sent you those color schemes weeks ago, and I still have to hear back from you on whether you prefer “Emerald-Cream-and-Gold” or “Lilac-and-Grey”._

_I know you and Credence must be quite busy with Campaign events, but I don’t think it’s too much to ask to spare a few minutes thinking on what you want the Happiest Day of Your Life to look like, is it? I would be more than happy to arrange everything with Credence, if you don’t mind. I’m sure he will be far more cooperative than you in helping dear old me put everything together._

_With love,_

_Saoirse Graves_

_***_

_Denver, Colorado, 1st September 1926_

_Dear Mamá,_

_Thank you for your letter. I’m sorry for the delay and brevity of my response, but we barely have time to breath in between rallies and meetings. Knowing I have yours and Papá’s support and affection, makes it easier to bear, though._

_Please, do not burden poor Credence with the wedding plans. He has his plate quite full between supporting me on the Campaign and keeping up with his lessons; I would not wish to add more work to his already busy schedule._

_Love,_

_Percival_

_***_

_The Grave Estate, Vermont, 2nd September 1926_

_Dear Percy,_

_I appreciate your busy agenda, unfortunately the wedding is not going to plan itself. Now, I know you don’t really care much for fashion and decoration beyond maintaining your well-stocked wardrobe, which is why I believe this would all be easier if Credence and I managed the whole thing. Your sister was completely unconcerned with her own wedding as well, but Wilhem and I managed to put it together beautifully._

_I’m sure Credence would not mind taking a bit of time off his magic lessons to put together his own wedding. Maybe this wonderful tutor of his can help him, she does seem have a wonderful taste if the wardrobe she put together for him is any indication. It will be a nice distraction from all those boring spells, potions and wizarding humdrum._

_With love,_

_Saoirse Graves_

_***_

_Seattle, Washington, 14th September 1926_

_Dear Mamá,_

_Credence is still not used to the luxuries and breadth of choice of his new life. He has enough trouble picking his outfits in the morning from the ‘overwhelming variety’ of his single, compact-sized suitcase. Putting together a wedding on the scale Papá and yourself seem to be planning will hardly be a distraction for him. Spells and potions, and all wizarding things, are still quite the novelty for him, you see. I believe he would rather focus on his studies and have a small, private ceremony at the Estate._

_Also, I’m not paying Miss Queenie enough to have her work as our wedding planner as well as Credence’s tutor._

_Love,_

_Percival_

_***_

_The Grave Estate, Vermont, 15th September 1926_

_Dear Percy,_

_A private ceremony is a delightfully charming idea, I couldn’t agree more. The preparations for it would be far simpler as well, something small enough that it would not be a chore for Credence to help me put together. We’ll still keep the reservation for The Plaza, though; we can use it for the after-party celebration. I doubt we would be able to fit all guests at the Estate._

_I don’t see why you can’t just increase Miss Queenie’s salary, then. I’m sure she would appreciate both the money and the opportunity to help plan what is sure to be the Wizarding Wedding of the Year._

_With love,_

_Saoirse Graves_

_***_

_San Francisco, California, 23rd September 1926_

_Dear Mamá,_

_I’m starting to believe you are just wilfully missing the whole point of my letters. We are too busy at the moment with the Campaign, and with classes. We will look at the wedding plans once we are back in New York and the election is over with._

_Love,_

_Percival_

_***_

_The Grave Estate, Vermont, 24th September 1926_

_Dear Percy,_

_I never miss anything._

_Now, you still haven’t answered: “Emerald-Cream-and-Gold” or “Lilac-and-Grey”?_

_With love,_

_Saoirse Graves_

***

Los Angeles is sweltering hot. The city seeming to, somehow, have missed the memo that Summer is over and it is time for the cool winds of Autumn to sweep in. Credence and the Goldsteins do not seem to mind the heat, cheerfully strolling along the beach, shoes in their hands and pants rolled up to just below their knees, as the water laps over their feet in intermittent waves.

Percival sits at the terrace of the house they are renting for the week, sharing a bottle of Beetle Berry Whiskey with George Picquery, and muttering cooling charms under his breath in a fruitless effort to keep the heat at bay. He already took his jacket off and rolled up his sleeves, and is now considering the merits of foregoing the waistcoat, when Helga pops into existence next to him with a resounding crack, a massive, battered book held precariously in her hands.

George startles so bad he spills his glass all over himself. Percival is too tired, and too hot, to do more than raise an enquiring eyebrow at his house elf.

“Master Percival,” salutes Helga solemnly, bowing deeply and almost bowling over due to the sheer size of her cargo “Master George” she acknowledges him, vanishing the spilled whiskey with a sharp twitch of her ear, before turning her round beady eyes back to Percival “Mistress Graves asked Helga to deliver this to Master Credence. Said it was of the utmost importance”

Percival gestures for her to hand over the book “I’ll pass it to him, thank you, Helga”

“Mistress Graves was very insistent that Helga deliver the parcel to Master Credence himself” she tells him, clutching the book tightly to her chest.

Percival scowls at her with little to no effect. Helga has been in the family’s service way too long to be intimidated by the infamous Graves’ eyebrows. She just blinks back at him, before repeating, in her high, squeaky voice “Helga will deliver the parcel to Master Credence only”

“I’ll go get him” George says, standing up from his chair and motioning at Percival to stay seated.

He reclines back into his chair with a huff, grimacing slightly when his shirt sticks to his back from the sweat. He pulls his handkerchief to carefully wipe his brow as he mutters another cooling charm.

“You do know you work for me, and not for my mother, right?” he asks Helga, who sniffs in response.

“Helga serves the Graves family, Sir” she snottily replies, pointedly looking away from him and towards the beach, where George has now reached Credence and is speaking with him as he gestures back towards the terrace.

“This would not have anything to do with the wedding, by any chance?” Percival asks tiredly.

“Helga couldn’t say, Sir. Helga only does what the Mistress asked her to. Although, if Sir asked Helga’s opinion, she would agree with the Mistress that preparations need to be made soon. There’s much to do, Sir.”

“I didn’t ask Helga’s opinion” Percival grumbles.

“No one asks Helga’s opinion” mutters the house elf, staring mutinously at her feet.

Percival is saved from getting into a petty argument with his own house elf by George’s return. Credence and the Goldsteins trail after him, feet still bare and covered in sand, eyeing Helga with open curiosity.

“Master Credence!” Helga visibly perks up upon spotting the boy, her ears twitching in anticipation. It seems her indifference is reserved exclusively for Percival now.

“I have a parcel for you, from Mistress Graves” she says, extending the massive book to Credence, who eyes it warily, not making a move to grab it.

“What is it?” Credence asks.

“Mistress Graves’ Wedding Planning Archive” Helga announces proudly and, ignoring Percival’s loud groan, continues “Mistress Graves believes this will be Most Helpful for Master Credence to plan his wedding with Master Percival”

Credence visibly balks at the announcement, taking a step back from Helga and the book, and looking anxiously at Percival.

“I don’t know anything about wedding planning!” he says, gaze swinging back and forth between the book and Percival “Why does your Mother think- I can’t plan a wedding, Percival. I’ve never even been to one”

Percival drags a hand down his face in frustration. He should have known better than to expect Mamá to just drop the subject of the wedding just because he stopped replying to her letters.

“Mamá wants me to be more involved in the wedding” he explains to an increasingly anxious-looking Credence “When I made it clear I didn’t have the time she insisted I let her liaise with you to get it sorted. I thought I had made it clear to her you didn’t have the time either, but she obviously chose to ignore me”

Credence looks back at the book, a small frown on his face as he worries his lower lip between his teeth.

“I could try it” he says softly “I mean, if Mrs. Graves doesn’t mind me… not knowing things. I could help. You don’t need to deal with wedding preparations, it looks like a lot of work, and I know you are very busy with the Campaign…”

“He is not that busy” Tina says, glaring at Percival from over Credence’s shoulder “He can spare some time to go over flower arrangements and china patterns with you, surely. It’s his own damn wedding as well”

Credence looks hesitantly at Percival, something like hope fleeting across his eyes.

“And Mr. Graves has been to many weddings” pitches in Queenie, smiling sweetly down at Percival, and patting Credence’s arm reassuringly “He sure knows what a proper wedding ought to look like”

“I don’t want to bother you…” Credence starts, looking at Percival with such painfully unabashed hope, that any possible protest he may have had dies the moment he meets that earnest gaze.

“It’s not a bother” he croaks out, even though it most definitely is. Credence’s answering smile, bright and obviously filled with joy, is enough to make him ignore Tina and Queenie’s blatantly smug shared look in the background. “We can have a look after dinner”

***

By the time the Nationwide Campaign draws to an end, Percival is barely able to remember that his relationship with Credence is fake anymore. Any time not spent in political meetings with Seraphina is now spent with Credence, either acting out their part as a newly engaged, very much in love, couple, or sitting on their hotel room, going over Mamá’s Wedding Planning Archive, and discussing food menus, table arrangements and decorations.

They are, to all pretences and effects, living and acting as a normal couple would.

Percival needs to keep reminding himself, over and over, every time they are alone on their room, that he is not supposed to kiss Credence when there is no one there to see. More than once he barely catches himself in time. His face dangerously close to Credence’s, his breath hot across his lips, and his eyes half closed in anticipation.

All this months of pretending and trying to trick everybody, Percival thinks frantically, and he has finally managed to trick himself.

Being back in New York does not help as much as he expected it to either. If anything, it highlights even more how deeply entrenched Credence is now into his life, and brings into high contrast the few spaces where he is still absent from. After months of sharing a bed every night, Percival has trouble finding sleep on his own, and ends up tossing and turning for hours in his king-sized bed, searching for the warmth of a body that is not there.

Work is no different than to when Percival left. There have been no big cases in his absence and everything runs as smoothly as could be expected. The only change to be found is within Percival himself. Where before he had never particularly minded having to stay in his office until late, working on a particularly difficult case or just sorting through a backlog of paperwork, he now rushes out of the door the moment it becomes acceptable to do so, much to his secretary’s alarmed shock and his Aurors’ badly disguised amusement. Spending the evening with Credence, either in the Manor or strolling around Manhattan, makes for a way more satisfying use of his time.

It also does wonders for his mood. Sexual frustrations notwithstanding, Percival has not been this content in a long time. Not having to come home to an empty house, having someone to share the burdens of the day with, and to distract him from the dreary daily affairs of MACUSA, makes him think society may have been onto something with the whole marriage thing, after all.

For the first time since the whole charade started Percival dares to contemplate marriage, more specifically marriage to Credence, as a viable option. It is a far more attractive proposition than he would have initially thought possible.

***

“You could marry him, if you wanted to, you know that, right?” Seraphina asks him one day, at the end of October. They are, once again, alone in her office, discussing their plans for the last stretch of the Campaign.

Percival startles, sharply glancing up from the photo of _The Ghost_ he has been staring at for the last minute. It is a photo from one of their last rallies in California, featuring Credence, lips curling up in that delicious smile of his, as he looks at something off frame. Percival was so distracted by the sight he has yet to look at the accompanying article.

Across the desk, Seraphina eyes him, an amused smile on her lips. Percival flushes hotly at the understanding look on her face, quickly averting his eyes in embarrassment. In the photo Credence turns to look at him, laughing softly before, once again, looking away. Percival’s chest clenches at the sight. He wonders at his chances of borrowing the newspaper without Seraphina noticing.

“I’m just saying,” Seraphina says, willfully ignoring Percival’s obvious embarrassment “All opinion polls and news coverage have been incredibly favourable towards your engagement. Your approval ratings have never been higher. Marrying him would probably be the best choice of your life”

Percival glances up at that, raising an eyebrow in question. Seraphina awkwardly clears her throat as she pointedly avoids his eyes and reshuffles the stack of documents in her hands“Politically speaking, of course” she adds, lest he believes she actually has any vested interest in his personal happiness.

He snorts softly, looking back at the Credence in the photo, who covers his mouth to hide a startled laugh, eyes almost shut in amusement. He does not particularly care about whether or not the press and the public support the marriage, but this is as close to an endorsement from Seraphina as he is likely to get, and her opinion he does value highly.

“Is that so?” he asks.

Seraphina makes a small agreeing noise, still avoiding his eyes and pretending to be busy with the documents spread out in front of her.

“It would also save me the trouble of having to explain to George why all his double date plans need to be cancelled” she says “He would be so disappointed if you ended up breaking the engagement. He’s grown incredibly fond of Mr. Barebone”

“I would hate to disappoint George” Percival says, trying to hide the amused smile pulling at his lips. His chest feels suddenly light, as if a weight had been lifted off it. Seraphina’s backhanded endorsement of the marriage makes it somehow more attainable, more real. It is the last piece of validation that he needed to know that Credence truly fits into his life, at his side, like a long lost piece to a puzzle he had never hoped to finish.

This evening, he decides as he browses through Campaign statistics with Seraphina, this evening he will ask Credence on a date. Court him properly, as he should have done in the first place, had he gone about their relationship with a minimum of normalcy.

***

Percival can tell something is not right the moment he gets home. For one, Credence is not there to greet him as has recently become custom, even if he is clearly in, as indicated by his coat and scarf, hanging neatly in the entrance foyer. He steps cautiously, taking off his own coat and dropping it carelessly over the back of a chair, as he silently makes his way into the house. He can hear muffled voices, words loud and frantic on the upper floor. He strides purposefully towards the stairs, only to nearly crash into Tina, who had been rushing down.

“Sorry, Sir!” she exclaims as she leans on the staircase’s handrail to recover her balance “I thought I had heard you come in”

“What’s going on?” Percival asks, trying to sidestep her and make his way upstairs. He can now clearly identify one of the voices as belonging to Credence. He sounds distressed.

“We had… an encounter in the city this afternoon,” Tina says, hurrying after him “with the Barebone’s”

That stops Percival right in his tracks. He turns to look at Tina in trepidation. The whole family was obliviated the same night it was confirmed Credence was a wizards, surely MACUSA could not be as incompetent as to mess that up “Did they recognise him?”

“No, of course not” hurries to add Tina and, at Percival’s impatient look, she continues “But he recognised them, and it wasn’t in the best circumstances… Mary Lou was beating the youngest, like she used to beat Credence. The poor kid had her hands completely covered in blood...”

Percival closes his eyes. He can remember healing Credence’s hands, arms and back after Mary Lou’s beatings. They were never a pretty sight, flesh torn open in ragged, messy scabs, oozing pus, and swollen from infection half of the time. From the way Tina clenches her first she is also remembering that as well. Percival is surprised she managed to contain herself and avoided a repeat performance of her stupidly righteous stunt. He allows himself a bit of pride at her newly found self control.

“I assume Credence didn’t take it well…” he says. He had always spoken fondly of his younger sister.

Tina grimaces, eyes darting upstairs for a brief second before focusing on the tip of her shoes, as she bites her lower lip in frustration “He has been blaming himself all afternoon. Says if he had stayed at the Church he could have prevented That Woman from hurting Modesty”

“By offering himself as an alternative punching bag,” bites out Percival, as he resumes his march up the stairs “which isn’t much of a solution”

He strides purposefully through the corridor until he finds himself in front of Credence room’s door. He knocks on it lightly with his knuckles to announce his presence and, without waiting for a response, opens it and steps in.

Credence is sitting in the bed, amidst a mess of pillows, blankets, and used, crumpled, tissues. His eyes look red and puffy, and even if they are dry at the moment, wet tear tracks can clearly be seen all over his flushed cheeks. He startles when he spots Percival by the door, sniffing loudly through his nose, and hastily rubbing a hand over his eyes.

“Percival” he exclaims in surprise “You’re home early”

“Tina told me what happened” Percival says, ignoring Credence’s unspoken question “Is there anything I can do…?”

Credence starts shaking his head before he has a chance to finish “No, it’s fine” he says, avoiding Percival’s eyes and half-hiding behind Queenie “I would just like some time alone with Miss Queenie… if that’s okay?”

“Of course” Percival promptly agrees, doing his best not to betray how useless and impotent Credence’s dismissal makes him feel. Queenie’s pitying look lets him know he is not doing a particularly good job.

“Let me know if you need anything” he adds as he steps out of the room “And I mean anything, Credence” He waits for Credence’s weak, acknowledging nod, before pulling the door shut.

Tina hovers anxiously at his side, brows furrowed in thought, and mouth twisted in commiseration. She looks like she cannot decide between offering him support and interrogating him about his intentions towards Credence. Percival is not really in the mood to deal with either.

“Not now, Tina” he says, raising a hand the moment she opens her mouth to protest “I’ll be in the library. Come find me if there’s any changes”

Tina closes her mouth with a snap, but her resolutely locked jaw, and the focused look in her eyes let Percival know she has no intention of letting him off the hook just yet.

***

Tina comes find him in the library some minutes after midnight. She already has her cloak on, as does her sister, who hovers discreetly by the door. She wrinkles her nose in distaste upon spotting Percival’s less than formal attire. He cannot blame her. In rolled up shirtsleeves, with no tie, and bare feet he hardly looks like his usual polished self. Still, he raises an eyebrow in unspoken defiance, this is his home, after all. He may be as undressed as he sees fit within it.

“Credence fell asleep a few minutes ago” she tells him, ignoring the half empty bottle of whiskey next to his chair.

“Thank you, Tina” Percival says, in what he believes is a clear dismissal tone. It either goes right over Tina’s head or she wilfully chooses to ignore it, because she does not move so much as an inch, and keeps staring down at Percival.

“If I may be so bold, Sir,” she starts.

“That will be all, Tina” Percival hastily interrupts her. He does not want, or need, one of her self-righteous, overly-concerned lectures right now.

Unfortunately, going by the way she steels herself before opening her mouth once again, it looks like  he is going to get it.

“If I may be so bold,” she repeats, glaring down at him. Percival is tempted to stand up to reduce the height difference, but Tina already has a few inches on him when wearing flats, and with her heels on she pretty much towers over him. So he stays seated and opts for glowering at her from underneath his heavy eyebrows. She continues, wholly unintimidated and completely undeterred “I believe Credence will be more willing to speak with you tomorrow, once he’s had some time to process his feeling. He got quite a shock today, but he would definitely appreciate knowing you care about him” She pointedly looks at him at the last bit, eyebrows raised almost as if invitation.

“I understand” Percival says, taking a sip of whiskey and ignoring Tina’s eager look. He may have made up his mind where his feelings for Credence are concerned, but he will be damned  if he starts sharing them with one of his underlings, no matter how favoured “Thank you, Tina”

She nods, not even bothering to hide her disappointment at his curtness, and promptly leaves the room, accompanied by her sister. Percival can hear them furiously whispering on their way down.

***

He is awoken by MACUSA’s Alarm Clock, just a few hours after he gets into bed. He mutters a soft _Lumos_ to peer at the device, which has its handle pointed firmly  at _Emergency, Level 6_. The highest threat level.

He bolts out of bed, hardly bothering with clothes, and rushes out of the door to apparate to MACUSA headquarters. His feet have barely touched the ground of the alley behind the Woolsworth building when he is grabbed by one of the Night Shift Aurors and side-apparated to the scene.

It takes him a few moments to understand what he is looking at. The building they find themselves in front of has been completely destroyed, walls blasted to pieces, ceiling caved in, and floor torn wide open.

“A new explosion?” he asks the Auror who took him to the scene.

The Auror twists his mouth in a grimace “If only it were that” he ominously says “Come along, Sir”

Percival follows him inside the dilapidated building, stepping over fallen wood beams and debris. The Auror takes him inside a large, empty room, something that could have been an altar hangs precariously against the far wall, several wooden benches lay, in different states of destruction, across the floor, but his attention is immediately pulled to the dark figure lying still in the middle.

He identifies it as a corpse at first sight. Given the awkward bent of their arms and legs, and the complete stillness with which it rests, there is no way it could be anything else. It is not until he is within arms reach that he realises he knows who the corpse belongs to. The dark, austere dress, the severe haircut, and the cold, blue eyes, now staring empty at nothing, all belong, undoubtedly, to Mary Lou Barebone.

Her face bears clear signs of Dark Magic, grotesque, twisting patterns all over her cheeks, disappearing down her neck and into the high, stiff, collar of her dress. These marks, coupled with the high level of destruction wrought down on the Second Salem church, point clearly towards one sobering conclusion.

Mary Lou Barebone was murdered by a Wizard.

***

“But I don’t want to go” Credence protests for the umptenth time since they left the house.

Percival looks at him, exasperated, taking in the stubborn set of his jaw, the squared shoulders and the burning, determined glint in his eyes. Any other time, he would have admired such a bold display of confidence from Credence, relished another clear sign of him finally coming into his own, especially considering the crying mess he had been the night before. Today he merely grinds his teeth together in frustration at the young man’s newfound stubbornness.

“I don’t care” he replies “Someone killed your stepmother last night. And the only things we know for sure is that the murderer was a wizard or a witch. They may have had a grudge against her and the Second Salem church, or they could be have killed her as a way of getting to you. Either way, I’m not willing to risk your safety”

“I’m not afraid” Credence declares, arms firmly crossed over his chest, making no move to grab the Portkey Percival just arranged for him.

“I am” Percival says, looking straight into Credence’s eyes and observing how they widen almost imperceptibly. He pushes on “There’s too much we don’t know, up to and including the spell they used, but the whole thing stinks of Dark Magic. Powerful Dark Magic. Whatever their motives are, you are too close to it, and with MACUSA on high alert, I won’t be able to watch over you. You’ll be safe at the Estate. Mamá and Papá will look after you, and the Wards are strong enough to keep out even Grindelwald himself”

Credence still does not make a move to grab the Portkey, even if both his scowl and his posture have relaxed slightly. Percival wants to shake him until he realises the gravity of the situation, but knows he must keep a level head, instead of letting the cold, stifling, fear twisting in his gut take over.

“I would sleep better, knowing you are somewhere safe” Percival says, deciding honesty is probably his best option, if Credence reaction to his earlier confession is anything to go by. “I’m not sending you away for the sake of it, trust me, I would much rather have you stay with me in New York. I’ll let you know the moment we locate your sisters and I’ll call for you the moment we catch the killer”

“Promise?” Credence asks, looking at him from under, thick, dark eyelashes, and worrying his lower lip.

“Promise” Percival says “We can go to the _Golden Mermaid_ to celebrate” he adds, as Credence visibly weighs his words.

“What is the _Golden Mermaid?”_

“A wizarding restaurant in Dragon Square, I’m sure you’ll enjoy it” Percival says. Obscenely luxurious and blindingly expensive, it’s the exact kind of restaurant Percival would have taken Credence to, had he courted him properly all those months ago. He figures it is never too late to start doing things right “It can be a date” he adds with trepidation, to dispel Credence’s reluctance.

Credence immediately snaps to attention at the words. Eyes searching Percival’s own with frantic yearning.

“A date” he repeats, voice trembling slightly. He stares at Percival without even blinking.

“Yes” Percival says, trying to keep his own voice calm and level, and surreptitiously wiping his suddenly sweaty palms on his coat. He feels seventeen again, asking Matthew Caulron to Prom, and waiting with bated breath for his answer. Although circumstances could not be more different, given how this is definitely not the time or the place for awkward confessions, his heart still thumps loudly on his chest in anticipation, and he still fidgets anxiously, as nervous as a schoolboy.

“Okay” Credence says, startling Percival, a timid smile twitching on his lips. His cheeks are flushed pink, and he is, once again, lowering his head. But he looks, for once, unabashedly, unreservedly happy.

Percival lets himself smile back, feeling the pull of it on his cheeks, and the pinch on the corner of his eyes,

“It’s a date, then” he replies.

Credence nods, smile curling at the edges, before he finally grabs the Portkey.

“It’s a date” he repeats, just as the Portkey activates and he is pulled by its magic far away from New York.

Percival is left standing by himself in the bare, rundown Portkey office, a smile stubbornly etched in his face, and a warm, delicious feeling curling into his chest. He exits the building with a newfound spring in his step, and starts making his way to MACUSA. Mary Lou Barebone is still dead, and MACUSA’s clock is still stuck at Level 6, signaling North America’s Wizarding community facing severe risk of exposure, but all Percival can think about as he turns into a small side alley to apparate, is Credence’s smile and the promise of a date.

He does not realise he is being followed, or notices anything amiss, until a hit to the back of his head knocks him out cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess for those of you wondering whether or not the Obscurus and Grindelwald were going to show up, here's your answer. Angry Murder Cloud made his presence quite known in this chapter and everyone's hated pineapple shows up in the next.
> 
> Next week we finally enter movie territory, and although there will be a distinct lack of Percival (for obvious reasons), Tina is gonna be guest starring as a POV character. I'm so excited to write her, she is my favourite character in the movie.
> 
> As always, comments make my day and are always immensely appreciated.
> 
> Update: I just realised the movie happened in 1926, instead of 1927 as originally stated on the letters on this chapter. My bad.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks all for your kind comments and support. Given the cliffhanger I ended the last chapter with, I did my best to get this one done as quickly as possible (trust me, three weeks for me is record time).
> 
> This one pretty much covers the events of the movie, with a few tweaks and twists, here and there, to adjust characters, relationships and plot to the situation of the fic. Hopefully you can find my take on the scenes entertaining. I tried to avoid a complete re-hash, focusing on scenes that are either different, or contain relevant plot points. So, basically, way less beasts, way more drama.
> 
> POV alternates between Tina and Credence to cover the main plot points. And, I feel I must warn you, this is the angstiest chapter I've written in my life. I did try to inject some bits of humor, but Grindelfucks really sucks the fun out of things.

Tina had missed Hot Dogs. 

She moans in pleasure as she takes her first bite, letting her eyes flutter close for a second as she loses herself in the moment. Merlin, but she had missed this. After months of elaborate, decadent, meals cooked by Helga, and splendorous hotel buffets, she enjoys the simple, uncomplicated, taste of the Hot Dog, the contrast between the soft bun, and the hot, chewy, sausage.

Queenie will undoubtedly give her grief about it later, always overly concerned with her eating habits. But, for now, she lets herself enjoy what seems to be the only  thing in New York that remains completely unchanged since she left.

With poor Credence gone to stay at the Graves Estate until Mary Lou’s killer is found, Tina has found herself suddenly thrown back into her old Auror job. It is all hands on deck, with MACUSA’s clock firmly stuck at  _ Emergency Level _ , and she has barely had a single moment of respite since she sat back on her desk three weeks ago. This is her first Hot Dog escapade since she got back, and the only reason she managed to sneak out in the first place is because Graves has decided, yet again, that Modesty and Chastity Barebone need to be tested for potential magic.

The girls have been repeatedly interrogated, tested and obliviated, since being found in a no-maj orphanage three days after their adoptive mother’s murder. Graves, understandably given the experience with Credence, does not seem to have much trust in the Register’s ability to properly identify child wizards and witches, and stubbornly insists that one of the girls must have at least some degree of magic. So far he has failed to properly explain how a young witch, with a spark of magic so small it is barely identifiable, would be able to completely wreck the Second Salem church and kill Mary Lou Barebone. 

But Percival Graves’ stubbornness is the stuff of legends at MACUSA and, true to character, the man has refused to budge from his theory, despite the multiple negative tests, carried out by both Register officers and his own trusted Aurors, and the increasing pressure for him to start looking elsewhere.

As a result of both the lack of progress in the investigations, and the stifling pressure from Congress, Graves has become an absolute nightmare to work with. He had never been what you would call a delight at work. Always too serious, overly focused on results, and with little to no patience for nonsense and frivolities, but these last few weeks he has revealed a foul, mercurial, temper that has most Aurors scrambling out of his way the moment they see him.

Tina had empathized with him during the first week, assuming he had taken Credence’s absence harder than he wanted to admit. She had thought back to the night of the murder, to Graves sitting alone in his massive living room, empty bottle of firewshisky at his side, and purple bags under his eyes, as he anxiously waited for news on Credence’s estate after that ugly encounter with the Barebones. She had not needed him to admit to the feelings that were painted clear as day on the worried lines on his face, and the tense set of his shoulders.

Of course, any pity she may have had held for him had long since disappeared after weeks of barked orders, rude dismissals and overall shitty attitude. Tina cannot wait for this case to be over and for Credence to return to the Manor. She had not realised how big an influence the boy had been on Graves’ demeanor, but the last few weeks have provided her, and the rest of the Auror department, with a clear reminder of how much their boss’ attitude had improved with his engagement.

She now dreads to wonder how bad Graves will get if he ends up ending the engagement as originally planned. It is an escenario that she now deem less and less likely, after months spent as an awkward testimony to Graves, not so discreetly, making cow eyes at Credence. But, still, he seems like the type of man stubborn enough to shoot himself on the foot just to prove a point.

She is brought out of her pessimistic musings when a young man bumps into her back, making her stumble and scramble to prevent her newly acquired Hot Dog from splattering all over the floor.

“I’m so sorry” mumbles the guy in a distinctive British accent, not even looking her in the eyes, as he ambles past her with an ungainly walk, a battered suitcase held distractedly in one arm.

Tina glares halfheartedly at his back as she takes a vindictive bite out of her Hot Dog. So much for Continental manners, she bitterly thinks, as she takes a closer look at her surroundings. 

It does not take her long to place herself. She had used to spend hours in front of Steen National Bank when she had been working the Second Salemers case. Mary Lou Barebone had been quite fond of the grand marble staircase as a place for her sermons. It probably appealed to her badly disguised flair for the grandiose and overly dramatic.

“Excuse me, darling,” says another man as he also justles her on his way through “just trying to get to the bank”

Tina is about to snap back at him, having had enough of being bumped on by random men for one day, when the man stumbles with something on the floor and goes crashing against the British guy from earlier, nearly bringing the both of them to the floor. Tina smiles, satisfied. Serves them right for lack of manners.

She is just about to leave when she spots a small, queer looking creature, picking coins out of a homeless man’s hat. She stills, following the creature with her eyes as it makes its way up the stairs and to the entrance of the bank, completely unseen by the throngs of no-majs entering and leaving the building. Shortly after the small beast disappears through the doors, Tina sees the Brittish guy bounce up the stairs in a belated pursuit.

Graves’ inane orders forgotten for the moment, Tina quickly vanishes her Hot Dog, and follows the strange Brit into the bank. Once inside, she bears astonished testimony to the man’s complete disregard for the Statute of Secrecy as he uses magic not once, but twice in his clumsy attempts to contain his small menace. With MACUSA on Emergency level alert, there is no way Tina can leave such an obvious threat to Wizarding Society’s security go unsupervised.

***

“Who are you” Tina snaps at the startled Brit, once she has safely disapparated them out of prying eyes “Who are you?” she repeats, more insistently as he dumbly stares at her and mumbles a half-assed apology.

“Newt Scamander” the man says, quickly dismissing her and fiddling with his suitcase. Probably the same suitcase where the greedy, furry menace of a beast is currently being kept “And you are?”

“What is that thing in your case?” Tina asks, ignoring his question.

“That’s my niffler” Mr. Scamander says, before pausing and pointing a finger at her face “Sorry you’ve got something on your-” Tina pushes back abruptly, half-expecting to be hexed.

“Why in the name of Deliverance Dane did you let that thing loose?” she asks, once she’s recovered from her brief surprise.

“I didn’t mean to,” Mr. Scamander defends himself “he’s incorrigible, you see, anything shiny, he’s all over the place” he says, voice sounding incredibly fond as he speaks about his magical rodent.

“You didn’t mean to” Tina interrupts him “You could not have chosen a worse time to let that creature loose! Were in the middle of a situation here!”

With a no-maj dead by unexplainable causes, an election just around the corner, and the Director of Magic Security seemingly determined to blame everything on two orphaned, no-maj girls, a situation is a bit of an understatement.

“I’m taking you in” Tina says, resigned. Graves’ latest magic test will have to wait, it is not like the results are going to be any different than the last eleven times it was carried out.

***   
Tina arrives with Mr. Scamander at the Major Investigations floor to find Graves in a heated discussion with President Picquery. From the door, Tina is too far to understand what Graves is currently saying in frantic, angry tones, but the way the President is shaking her head at him, eyes closed in resignation, and hands at her hips, as well as the hesitant group of Aurors standing nervously at the back, all point to things not exactly going Graves’ way at the moment.

He is really not going to appreciate finding out Tina skipped on testing the Barebones to pick up some random British beast smuggler.

She clears her throat, loudly, to signal her presence, hand firmly clasped over Mr. Scamander’s arm as both an outlet for her nerves, and a preventive measure against his potential escape. Both Graves and the President stop and turn to look at her at the sound. Tina tries her best not to fidget.

“Mr. Graves,” she starts, advancing towards where he is leaning over a desk, various papers and maps strewn in front of him “ this is Mr. Scamander. He has a crazy creature in that case and it got out and caused mayhem in a bank, sir”

“Have you got the tests?” Graves brusquely asks her, completely ignoring what she just said.

“The- No, I haven’t, but, sir, this man is carryi-”

“I asked you to test the girls, Tina” says Graves, looking disappointedly at her and pinching the arch of his nose in frustration “not to arrest some random foreign citizen”

Tina already has an apology on the tip of her tongue, when the President buts in.

“Mercy Lewis, Percival, will you let it go?” she snaps at Graves, exasperation coloring her voice. It is the angriest Tina has ever seen her. “We have tested the girls already. Several times. The murderer used advanced dark magic. Will you, please, re-focus your resources into tracking Grindelwald’s American Network? This has that psychopath's greasy, grubby paws all over it.”

Graves glares at the President, mouth stuck on a firm, stubborn line, and brows drawn tight over his eyes.

“I still want Credence Barebone to be brought in for questioning” he says, completely nonchalant, as if he had not just made his fiancée a suspect in the most serious crime committed in New York in years.

“Merlin’s balls” groans the President, rolling her eyes in frustration “You are getting more ridiculous by the second. By all means, bring Mr. Barebone back, hopefully he will bring your sanity with him and you’ll finally regain your senses”

“Thank you, Seraphina” Graves says, a mocking smirk in his lips.

The President huffs in annoyance but otherwise ignores him, turning her attention to Tina and her prisoner.

“He’s all yours now, Tina” she says as she elegantly exits the room. Tina fights down the pleased blush that spreads over her cheeks at the privilege of being addressed by her first name by the President of MACUSA herself.

“Thank you, Madame President” she hurriedly mumbles at the President’s retreating back. 

“What have you brought me that was so important, Tina?” Graves asks her, sounding bored and irritable. He pulls a chair and sits down with a huff, carelessly arranging his suit, even if his eyes never leave her.

Tina shuffles nervously, before hoisting Mr. Scamander’s suitcase up on the desk.

“This man is carrying illegal, dangerous, creatures in this suitcase, sir. It’s a clear case of Section 3A”

Graves looks completely uninterested, but lazily motions for her to continue. Sensing his lack of attention, and determined to get the whole thing sorted as quickly as possible, Tina pulls open the suitcase, her eyes fixed on Graves’ face, watching for his reaction.

Graves stares fixedly at the contents of the suitcase, his eyebrows climbing steadily up his forehead. There’s a muffled titter from one of the Aurors at the back of the room. Next to her, Mr. Scamander has gone completely tense.

Tina turns to to look at the suitcase and cold dread washes through her. There is no niffler. No puffskeins, and no other magical creatures either. There is just a delicious looking array of pastries, all organised into neat squares of baking paper. 

She looks worriedly back at Graves, nervously swallowing the knot that has suddenly formed on her throat, and wondering if she avoided getting fired over her attack on Mary Lou only to be demoted now, over some fucking pastries.

“I can explain-” she starts, but is immediately interrupted by Graves’ raised hand.

“Nevermind this” he says “Just do as I ask from now on. You’ll be picking up Credence at the Portkey office tomorrow afternoon, please do try not to get derailed by imaginary beasts again”

“I- I won’t, sir”

“Good” Graves says, waving a hand in dismissal and turning to the assembly of Aurors on the room “Now, who wants a pastry? Miss Goldstein was kind enough to bring us some much needed treats, boys. Oh! There’s an éclair, they are my favourite” he says, ignoring Tina and picking up a decadent looking éclair before retreating back into his private office.

***

After a short detour by Queenie’s desk to sort out Mr. Scamander’s wand Permit (and, really, is there a single legal proceeding this man has bothered to follow?), Tina and her reluctant captive have managed to track down the no-maj who ended up with Mr. Scamander’s suitcase after the disaster at the bank.

Of course, because the universe seems determined to make this the worst day of Tina’s career, the building block where the no-maj lives has been half demolished due to a ‘gas leak’ by the time they make it there, Mr. Scamander’s suitcase has been opened (“just a smidge”, says the insufferable twat, smiling as if butter would not melt in his mouth), and the no-maj, Mr. Kowalski, has been mauled by a giant, bald, mutant rat (“A Murtlap” clarifies her annoying prisoner, sounding like every pedantic professor Tina has ever had all rolled into one).

“He looks ill!” she exclaims, touching her hand to Mr. Kowalski’s hot and clammy forehead. The man blinks dazedly back at her, as if he is having trouble processing what is going on.

“He’ll be fine” dismisses her Mr. Scamander “Murtlap bites aren’t serious. I admit that is a slightly more severe reaction than I’ve seen, but if it was really serious, he’d have…”

“What?” prompts Tina exasperated. Mr. Kowalski is boiling hot to the touch and cannot seem to be able to string two words together. She fears to know what the ‘serious’ symptoms may be.

“Well, the first symptom would be flames out of his anus…” mumbles Mr. Scamander, somehow seemingly amused at the whole situation.

Mercy Lewis. Tina does not have time to be dealing with this.

“I can keep him,” continues Mr. Scamander, speaking as if the sick man in the room was a stray  he just found out on the street “if you want me to”

“Oh, keep him?” Tina questions him “We don’t keep them! Mr. Scamander, do you know anything about the wizarding community in America?” she asks, because the man seems obnoxiously oblivious to even the more mundane details of Wizarding New York.

As it turns out, Mr. Scamander  _ does _ know a few things about wizarding and no-maj relations in North America. He just very obviously choses to ignore them. Tina cannot decide if he is one of Grindelwald’s fanatics, sent to New York to expose them all via magical safari, or just too socially inept to observe even the more stringent societal conventions.

She considers just turning both him and Mr. Kowalski over to Graves, now that she has the right suitcase as evidence to her claims, but given the way Graves has been carrying on lately he would sooner decide to have Mr. Kowalski arrested for Mary Lou Barebone’s murder than do anything about Mr. Scamander and his suitcase of magical menaces.

As such, taking them home with her seems to be the only reasonable solution.

***

Tina questions her reasoning skills the moment she hears Mrs. Esposito’s voice carry down the stairs. She is going to end up getting her sister and herself kicked out of their apartment because of some snobbish Brit who could not invest in proper locks for his suitcase of doom.   
  
Thankfully they manage to make it to the apartment without being discovered, and Tina can breath easy for the first time since she first set eyes on Mr. Scamander earlier on the day. The escaped beasts wandering around the city, Graves’ fool temper, and Mary Lou’s murder, all feel like distant memories from within the safety of their tiny apartment. 

She rolls her eyes fondly at Queenie’s flirting and fussing over their guests, and helps set the table, all the while keeping a cautious eye on Mr. Scamander. Even with the beast situation more or less under control, now that they have retrieved the blasted suitcase, she cannot afford any more mistakes or loose ends wandering about. Not with Credence set to return in less than a day. Graves will punish her with something way worse than a demotion if she lets his fiancée get eaten by some Wampus Cat that has been let loose in Central Park.

The meal is more pleasant than expected, if for nothing else than Queenie’s obvious delight at getting to finally meet a no-maj. In return, Mr. Kowalski looks completely awed by Queenie’s cooking skills, as he well should. Tina had always thought Queenie’s skills in the kitchen to be commonplace, having been familiar with them ever since their early days as orphans. It was not until he saw Graves, by all accounts one of the most powerful wizards in America at the moment, completely calcify a slice of toast in a misguided attempt at breakfast that she realised Queenie’s complete dexterity with cooking spells was just another way her sister was extraordinary.

(Credence, besotted fool in love that he was, had been suitably impressed with Graves’ blackened, pathetic excuse for a toast, and the watery, bitter coffee that went with it. Love apparently rendering him devoid of taste, as well as sight)

When she finally gets into bed, Tina is even feeling a tiny bit optimistic about the next day. She will accompany Mr. Scamander in his search for the missing beasts in the morning, get all of them rounded up and safely back in the suitcase by noon, with just enough time to  put Mr. Scamander in a train or boat departing New York, and pick up Credence from the Portkey offices, welcoming him back to a blessedly beast and Mr. Scamander-free city.

It is a perfect plan, she thinks to herself, just before sleep claims her.

***

Her plan goes off the rails before it even has a chance to get started.

She has barely had a chance to close her eyes when she hears the telltale sounds of an apparition spell in their guest room. With a weary sigh, and a muttered reassurance thrown in Queenie’s direction, Tina gets out of bed, throws on some pants and a jacket, and activates the tracking charm she had preemptively put on Mr. Scamander’s suitcase.

By the time she catches up with them, in no-maj Central Park, Mr. Kowalski is being chased by a mad erumpent, while Mr. Scamander fights a monkey for his wand. Tina pinches the bridge of her nose to forestall the building headache, and sits herself down over a bridge to wait for the best moment to intervene.

Her chance comes once the erumpent is caught, and Mr. Scamander and Kowalski retire back inside his suitcase, presumably to make sure the beast is secured and not stampeding around whatever charmed zoo Mr. Scamander has built down there. She runs down the bridge, and over the ice, until she is sitting on top of the suitcase, her breath coming in short, nervous bursts. Taking them home with her had been a mistake, she realises, her mind still flashing back to the stampeding erumpent. They cannot afford to have magical beasts loose on the city, causing panic and chaos amongst no-majs, not while a dark wizard with a grudge against the Barebones is still on the loose.

She will take the suitcase to MACUSA. Mr. Scamander and his beasts will be better kept in there, with no chances of escape, and Mr. Kowalski will get properly healed and obliviated, before being sent on his way. 

Better for all. She should have done that in the first place.

***

She should have never done that at all.

Tina does not know why each and every one of her decisions seems to be the wrong one lately, but she is so frustrated with it all she could scream.

At first things had gone well. She had made it into Woolworth building with no more beastly breakouts, and had been just handing over the suitcase, and a sheepish looking Mr. Scamander to Mr. Garcia, the Auror in charge of Night Shift, when Graves had shown up. Tina had not counted on him still being in the office, having erroneously assumed he would have been keeping to the less workaholic schedule he had adopted since his engagement.

She started bumbling out an explanation the moment she spotted him, but Graves had merely taken one look at Mr. Kowalski, incredibly conspicuous in his no-maj clothes and badly disguised shocked expression, and at the niffler poking out of Mr. Scamander’s coat pocket, and stuffing its pouch with silver engraved quills, and had immediately ordered them all to be taken to the cells, to be interrogated in the morning. Tina had sputtered out indignantly at being treated as a co-conspirator after having dutifully delivered Mr. Scamander, and his suitcase, into MACUSA custody. Graves had waved away her protests by snidely pointing out that interacting with no-majs was considered a violation of Rappaport’s Law, nevermind inviting them into one’s own home.

Tina had been so blind with rage at  his blatant hypocrisy she had not even managed to formulate an adequate argument in protest. To be accused of fraternising with no-majs by Him! The man who had let his dick do all the thinking and had broken Rappaport’s Law in all ways imaginable, before he luckily discovered the no-maj he had been sleeping with was actually a wizard.

Pacing angrily in her cell, still seething over Graves’ hypocritical accusation, Tina fervently wishes for Mr. Kowalski to reveal some previously unknown magical abilities. Or confess to some form of magical ancestry, a once-removed cousin, perhaps. But, to her increasing dismay, the man remains frustratingly plain and decidedly non-magic.

“Nothing in that suitcase is dangerous” protests, once again, Mr. Scamander, for what feels like the hundredth time. 

Tina snorts in response. Clearly the man’s definition of dangerous is not the same as hers, because as far as she knows, there is no world where an over two tons horned beast is considered as completely inoffensive.

“I’m sorry about your creatures, Mr. Scamander,” she says “but you have to understand, these are dangerous time for us. A no-maj was murdered with black magic, not even a month ago, and we still don’t have the minimum idea as to whom may be responsible. Everyone is on edge, even if the explosions have thankfully stopped for now-”

“The explosions?” Mr. Kowalski asks “You mean the gas leaks that have been destroying buildings all over the city in this past year? That was you guys?”

“It wasn’t ‘us’” Tina says “but they were caused by magic, yes. Some think they may be related to Mary Lou’s murder, but Graves is still insisting that was caused by one of her children’s accidental magic”

“A child?” Mr. Scamander asks, looking suddenly serious and focused “You mean an Obscurial?”

Tina shakes her head “No, of course not, there haven’t been Obscurials in America in centuries-”

“I met one in Sudan three months ago” Mr. Scamander says, hunching over in his corner of the cell and picking at a thread on his pants “There used to be more of them but they still exist.”

“Can someone please tell me what this Obscurial thing is? Please?” Mr. Kowalski asks, looking a bit spooked.

“Before wizards went underground,” Mr. Scamander starts, speaking in a monotunous voice “when we were still being hunted by Muggles, young wizards and witches sometimes tried to suppress their magic to avoid persecution. Instead of learning to harness or to control their powers, they developed what was called an Obscurus.”   
  
Mr. Kowalski still looks confused, so Tina elaborates “It’s an unstable, uncontrollable Dark force that busts out and attacks…” she drifts off, realising how familiar the phenomenon she is describing is to what has been happening all over the city. The random, unrelated, explosions… “And then vanishes.” and the lack of any kind of evidence afterwards “Obscurials can’t survive long, can they?” she asks Mr. Scamander, a sinking feeling forming in her gut. Would an Obscurial be able to fool the tests?

“There’s no documented case for an Obscurial surviving past the age of ten” He confirms “The one I met in Africa was eight when she… She was eight when she died.” he finishes, eyes filled with sadness at the memories. Tina smiles weakly in sympathy, she can only imagine how painful that must have been, to see a mere child destroyed by the same powers that should have been theirs to enjoy.

“What are you telling me here, that woman was killed by a kid?” Mr. Kowalski asks, alarmed.

Tina is feeling rather alarmed herself, even if she nods to confirm Mr. Kowalski’s words. Graves obsession with the Barebone girls does not sound so illogical now. If an Obscurial were to grow in New York,  there is no question the most likely place for it would be under Mary Lou Barebone’s roof, with her recorded history of child abuse and hatred of magic. Graves must have suspected an Obscurus from the moment of Mary Lou’s murder, Tina realises, that must have been the reason why he ordered all those tests. He wanted to confirm neither of the girls held and Obscurus inside them. Still, it does not explain why then has he not shared his suspicions with the team, or even the President. As unlikely as an Obscurus in the Twentieth Century may be, it is a sound hypothesis. And, if that were the case, why would he even want to question Credence, who is definitely too old to be an Obscurial?

***

“So it’s useless without the host” Graves murmurs, as he appraises the Obscurus sitting on his desk with a clinical eye, and Tina’s blood turns to ice in her veins.

She barely hears Mr. Scamander question Graves over whether a parasitical force culpable of a child’s death should ever be qualified as useful. There is something terribly wrong with man sitting in front of her in the bare interrogation room, throwing baseless, unfounded accusations at Mr. Scamander and talking about an Obscurus as if it were nothing more than a tool. Tina thinks back to Credence all those months ago, crouching down on the floor as Mary Lou lashed his hands with a leather belt, she think how close the boy must have come to developing an Obscurus himself, and wonders how someone who supposedly cares about him could be so callous about that.

“What about the Barebone girls, sir?” Tina asks Graves, before the man has a chance to reply to Mr. Scamander’s accusations “You suspect them of being Obscurials, don’t you? That’s why you ordered all those tests to be made-”

“That’s part of a classified investigation, Tina” Graves interrupts her “you are not allowed to divulge that information, much less to a suspected terrorist”

“You know an Obscurus is the thing that has been causing the explosions. What killed Mary Lou. Mr. Scamander managed to separate an Obscurus from its host, why not ask him to examine the girls? If one of them is really an Obscurus, he may be able to save them-”

“That’s enough, Tina!” Graves barks. He looms over the desk, glaring at her, his knuckles white where they rest over the sterile surface “I will not have more of these ridiculous tales. You have aided and abetted this man in his intent to break the Statute of Secrecy, giving him shelter in your own home, cavorting with no-majs and, now, supporting his lies about a supposed Obscurus in New York”

“Sir-” Tina desperately starts to beg him. She cannot believe this is the same man who she saw going over napkin choices with Credence barely a month ago.

“You are both therefore guilty of a treasonous betrayal of your fellow wizards and are sentenced to death” Graves finishes, not even hesitating as he delivers the sentence. Tina cannot seem to remember how to breath, a choked sob logging itself in her throat, as she hears the man she most respects sentence her to death without a second of hesitation.

“Just do it immediately. I will inform President Picquery myself” he says, waving them away, and distractedly wiping his brow.

Tina can barely see anything from behind the bitter tears gathering in her eyes, but she hears her own voice weakly pleading for mercy, as Mr. Scamander and her are dragged to the execution chamber.

She thinks of Queenie, who must have woken up to an empty flat, with no explanation, and may still be accused of being a co-conspirator in Graves’ mad theory. She thinks of Credence, due to return to New York in a few hours, to a man she can barely recognise and no longer trusts to keep the boy safe.

***

The sun has already vanished behind the Manhattan skyline by the time Credence arrives at the  Magical Transportation, Appartition and Portkey Offices. He wraps his coat a bit tighter around himself as he stands outside the Offices, waiting for Tina to come pick him up, as he distractedly fiddles with Percival’s letter, carefully folded into his pocket.

It is the first letter he received since he left for the Graves Estate three weeks ago. His own messages having gone unanswered and, for all he knows, unopened and forgotten amongst the various papers on Percival’s desk. Mrs. Graves had advised him not too worry too much about the lack of communication, arguing that it was not uncommon for Percival to lose himself into an investigation and forget about everything else, but Credence has not been able to stop the familiar gnawing doubts from festering in his mind.

Does Percival already regret his decision to invite him on a date? Had the date even been real in the first place, or just a ploy designed to get Credence out of New York with minimum complaints?

It would hardly be the first time Percival has given him false hopes, where his feelings and their relationship are concerned, but something prevents Credence from believing that to be the case, despite Percival’s record and his own pessimistic tendencies. 

Tina’s letters, his only source of information into the going-ons within the MLE department and Percival himself, help keep the small glimmer of hope alive. According to her, Percival’s behavior has been erratic at best, and downright appalling at worst, a clear indication, according to Tina, of how much he misses Credence and the extent to which his prolonged absence has impacted him. Even if feels slightly bad about the Aurors having to deal with Percival’s foul temper, Credence cannot help but be comforted at her words. No one has ever missed him before, certainly not enough to be upset about it. It is a nice feeling, Credence thinks, knowing someone cares that much about you.

He nervously waits, eyes scanning both sides the street for any signs of Tina, as his stomach ties itself into knots in anticipation. He wonders if Percival will make good on his promise and take Credence to that fancy restaurant he mentioned. The letter had not mentioned anything about Mary Lou’s murderer, or even his sisters, who he knows, thanks to Tina, have been transferred to an orphanage in the nicer part of the city, and Percival had said he would only ask for Credence return once the assassin had been caught, but right now, with anticipation coursing hot and fast through his veins, Credence cannot bring himself to care too much about such details.

“Mr. Barebone?” says a voice from behind him.

Credence turns, startled, to find himself face to face with a short, plump woman. She smiles nervously at him, hands stuffed into the pockets of her leather trench coat. “You are Credence Barebone, right?” she asks.

“I- Yes” he hesitantly responds, reaching for the wand in his pocket.  He has just started working on defensive spells and, while he doubts his skills would be much use in a real duel, he should at least be able to cause enough of a distraction to escape back into the Portkey offices.

“Oh, good!” exclaims the woman, visibly relieved at his confirmation. She pulls an envelope out of her pocket and hands it over to him, smiling warmly “Director Graves asked me to come pick you up and take you to the Manor” she explains.

“I thought Tina was  coming to pick me up” Credence says, clutching his wand a bit tighter and taking one hesitant step back, ignoring the offered envelope.

“Tina…? Oh, you mean Goldstein!” the woman says “She, uh, she couldn’t make it, so the Director sent me instead. Auror Rosa Martinez, sir, at your service” she explains, eyes flitting uncomfortably to the ground for a brief second, and smile nervously twitching at the edges “It’s all explained here” she finishes, waving the envelope towards Credence once again.

He cautiously accepts it, keeping an eye on her as he breaks open the envelope. He recognises the Graves’ House sign on the wax seal, and allows himself a small smile at Percival’s overly formal and elaborate manners. The letter is written on familiar paper stock, the Graves sigil embossed at the top, and the text scribbled in Percival’s spidery, illegible handwriting.

_ My Dearly Beloved Credence,  _ the letter starts, and Credence can do nothing to hide, or prevent, the pleased blush that spreads across his cheeks at the intimate address. He looks at Auror Martinez, to check if she has noticed, but she is politely looking away, leaving him to read the letter undisturbed. He quickly returns his attention to the text.

_ I apologize for demanding your return to the city when your Mother’s assassin is still at large, and not being there to receive you myself. Auror Martinez will be escorting you to the Manor, and will keep you company until I return. She is a competent and loyal Auror, and I have absolute trust in her skills to keep you safe, there’s no need to worry, my love. You know I wouldn’t risk leaving the protection of my most precious fiancée in just anyone’s hands. _

Credence’s blush intensifies as he reads through the letter, his heart swelling in his chest at Percival’s bold, sincere, words of affection. It feels like a weight has been lifted of his shoulders, all the doubts and worry of the past weeks vanishing like mist under the midday sun.

And then he gets to the last paragraphs and dread sinks right back into his stomach like a block of lead, any euphoria he may have had evaporating in an instant, leaving nothing but anger and confusion in its wake.

_ As for Auror Goldstein, I deeply regret to inform you that she has betrayed us, and MACUSA, by bringing one of Grindelwald’s supporters into our city, and aiding him in a nefarious plot designed to expose all wizardkind to discovery. Her duplicitousness only came to light earlier today and, although she was arrested immediately, both her and her companion managed to escape custody. I know these terrible news will undoubtedly shock and distress you, my love, but I thought it best to warn you of Goldstein’s treachery, lest she try and make contact with you. _

The letter goes on to reassure Credence of all the efforts currently underway in bringing both Tina and her accomplice to justice, but he can do nothing more than skim over it, the words blurring in front of his eyes, and the ringing in his ears disturbing his focus and muddling his thoughts.

“Shocking, right?” Auror Martinez nervously asks. Credence dazedly glances up at her. She shrugs, face scrunching up in a self-aware grimace “I couldn’t believe it either when McCoy told me. Goldstein, a traitor! She is the most rule-aviding Auror in the whole department. Girl won’t ever turn in her reports without cross-checking them at least three times for spelling mistakes. I just can’t picture her as a Grindelwald follower”

Credence nods dumbly in response, eyes returning to the letter in his hands, re-reading the words he still cannot bring himself to believe.

“It may just be a big misunderstanding” Auror Martinez continues “These things happen sometimes. Director Graves is just under a lot of pressure right now. Hopefully you will help him get his bearings once again”

***

By the time Percival returns to the Manor, Credence has worked himself up into a quite impressive fit of righteous anger, despite Auror Martinez’s well-meaning, reassuring words, and with a bit of assistance from the always sensationalistic pages of  _ The Ghost _ , which has wasted no time in running a full report on Tina’s supposed terrorist activities in their afternoon edition.

The moment he hears the front door open and Percival’s voice call for Helga to take his coat, Credence runs out of  his room to confront him, Auror Martinez hurriedly following on his heels.

“Tina is  _ not _ a traitor!” he announces as he storms into the living room, foregoing the genteel pleasantries or loving greetings he had initially planned for this specific reunion earlier on the day.

“Credence,” Percival answers, eyebrows raised in surprise, and smiling warmly at him, as if he had not just sentenced Credence’s closest friend to death just hours ago under some bogus charges of conspiracy “so good to see you looking so well, darling”

“Your Aurors are wrong, Percival,” Credence insists, growing increasingly distressed when Percival starts shaking his head, a hand half raised in a pacifying gesture “They  _ have  _ to be wrong. You know Tina. She would never-”

“My love,” Percival softly interrupts him, forestalling any protests by delicately placing a finger upon Credence lips. It just goes to show how distressed Credence is that neither the loving address, nor the intimate gesture, do anything but increase his anger and frustration, when just  a day ago, nay, mere hours ago, he would have melted on the floor “stop worrying about that. I haven’t seen you in three weeks, let’s not spend our time discussing such an unpleasant subject. I trust your return trip went well, Auror Martinez, thanks for keeping him safe this afternoon”

“My pleasure, sir” Auror Martinez responds, looking decidedly uncomfortable at bearing unwilling testimony to her boss’s domestic dispute. “If I may be excu-”

“Auror Martinez also thinks Tina is innocent” Credence interrupts. Percival looks at him, brows furrowed in annoyance, while Auror Martinez lets out an undignified squeak of surprise behind his back “She said Tina is the most rule-aviding Auror in the whole department”

“She never seemed like the Grindelwald fanatic type, sir,” Auror Martinez says, face going red when Percival turns his attention back on her. She takes a hesitant step back, positioning herself so that Credence is standing between Percival and her “always did her job, pristine record, no signs of radicalisation prior to today,... Always looked like a perfectly normal person to me. Sir”

“Criminals often do, Martinez” Percival condescendingly says “Otherwise it would be way easier to catch them, don’t you think? Goldstein was just waiting for the right moment, the right opportunity, to create doubt and chaos within MACUSA”

“You don’t really believe that” Credence says, astonished “That’s ridiculous. If Tina had wanted to cause chaos, she would have leaked our story to the Press months ago”

“Our story  _ was _ leaked to the Press, honey” Percival responds, his smile infuriatingly patronizing. Credence bristles at the sight of it, and the dismissive tone of his voice.

“You know what I mean” he says, through clenched teeth. Percival may have decided to fake a temporary amnesia, but Credence quite distinctly remembers that Tina kept the truth about their relationship for months, despite her obvious disapproval of both it and the ensuing charade.

“I’m quite afraid I don’t, love. Now,” Percival says, grabbing his arm “why don’t we let Auror Martinez go home, forget about Goldstein, and spend the rest of the evening on more...pleasant, endeavours”

Credence hesitates for a brief second. This is, after all, what he has been hoping, pinning for, for months. He has fantasised about Percival calling him ‘love’ and ‘darling’, and inviting him back into his bed since the moment he met him. Any other day he would have accepted the offer without a second thought.

Today, he will stand for Tina, same as she stood for him all those months ago, when Credence was nothing more than a scarred, and pitiful wretch, living in fear of Mary Lou. Before MACUSA, and the elections, and magic even entered into his life. Before Percival even bothered to as much as glance at him.

He wrests his arm away with a sharp twist “No! We will discuss Tina  _ now” _

Percival’s face darkens in anger at his refusal, brows furrowed menacingly over eyes, and mouth twisting in an unpleasant sneer “Credence, my boy…” his voice has lost all of its previous warmth, words coming out cold and threatening.

Credence is not intimidated “I don’t know what happened, or how stressed you’ve been over Ma’s murder, but you  _ can’t- _ ”

The slap, when it comes, is completely unexpected. It takes Credence a few seconds to really understand what has happened, to link the burning pain on his cheek, and the ringing in his ear, with the loud, painfully familiar sound, of flesh being struck. He raises a trembling hand up to his face, hesitantly touching the still too-hot flesh. It stings. His fingers, when he raises them, come away wet. He had not even realised he had started crying.

Percival had never hit him before. Had never even raised his hand in anger. Despite his various shortcomings, where handling of Credence’s feelings were concerned, Percival had never physically hurt him. He had always condemned Mary Lou’s treatment of Credence, from the very first days of their relationship.  _ A monster _ he had called her, fingers tracing over Credence’s blistered palms and healing his wounds.

“Now, you listen to me, boy” Percival growls, forcefully grabbing his arm again and jostling him until he regains his attention. Credence whimpers in protest at the rough treatment, Percival’s fingers digging into his arms with more force than necessary. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Auror Martinez look on horrified. It is a familiar look, he realises, one that he had used to see on passerby faces whenever Mary Lou decided to beat him in the middle of the street.

The thought gives him pause. He was supposed to have gotten away from all of that. Percival was supposed to have taken him away from all of that. It all feels like a very bad memory. He can hear Percival talking, words loud and filled with anger, but he cannot make out what he says. He is back in the Second Salem Church, with Mary Lou standing over him, his belt in her hands, as she preaches Hell and brimstone while she whips his hands raw. He is back in Pike Street, watching as Modesty is now taking the beating previously meant for him

Anger boils, hot and bitter in his stomach. He had gotten out. He had learned magic, and made friends, and had even thought he had started something more with Percival himself. He should not have to feel this afraid, this  _ small _ .

The second slap is, if possible, even louder than the first. Credence can taste blood in his mouth, the tangy metallic taste of it familiar in his tongue. He can hear the crack of the belt in Mary Lou’s hand. Modesty’s screams are loud, even amongst the noise of all the cars and people in the street. He feels himself start to fray apart at the edges, anger burning through his veins and clogging his throat until he can barely breath.

He lets go.

***

“Jeez. Is that the Obscuriathing?” Jacob asks, as they watch the black mass rampage through the city.

“That’s more powerful than any Obscurial I have ever heard of” Newt says, before turning to look at Tina and handing her his suitcase and battered notebook “If I don’t come back, look after my creatures. Everything that you need to know is in there” 

“What?” Tina asks in disbelief. Even if helping Newt find his creatures has done a great deal towards improving her perception on magical beasts, she is in no way ready to become a primary caretaker for a zoo-worth of them.

“They’re not killing it” Newt declares, before disapparating away, needlessly dramatic and overly impulsive.

“Newt!” she shouts after him, exasperated. If anyone is going to go fight the murderous magical parasite it should be her, the actual, properly trained, Auror, not a glorified veterinarian with no sense of self-preservation. She turns to Jacob and Queenie, who are both still staring at the spot where Newt disappeared “You heard him, look after them!” she says, thrusting both suitcase and notebook at them and disapparating away herself.

***

She finds Newt hiding behind a turned over car in a half-destroyed street full of no-majs running away in a panic. The Obscurial stands before them, a swirling mass of black and red, destroying everything in its path.

“It’s your Director’s fiancée” Newt announces when he spots her “I think they may be having a little domestic”

“Credence?!” Tina shouts back in disbelief. Just then she spots Graves familiar silhouette, his stupidly expensive black coat waving in the wind as he approaches the Obscurial, wand raised in front of him. She turns back to Newt “But he’s not a child!” Even if he is still decidedly too young for Graves.

“His power must be so strong he’s somehow managed to survive” Newt says.

Tina looks back at the Obscurial, at Credence, as it recoils from Graves. She does not know what could have possibly caused Credence to become this upset and lose control, but given Graves recently dubious behavior, her bet is on him. Their best option is keeping him away from Credence until he has managed to regain some level of control. 

“Newt! Save him” she says as she steps out of her cover and heads towards her boss. Hopefully he will now see her supposedly mad theories about an Obscurial were not so far off, and be more willing to cooperate “Mr. Graves!”

Graves turns to look at her, a manic look in his eye, and brows furrowed in anger. It is not the face of someone ready to admit past mistakes or even welcome some help, but Tina willfully ignores the warning signs in her eagerness.

“We can help Credence, sir” she says “If you could just come with me for a sec-”

Her speech is cut short by a stunning spell she manages to dodge by sheer luck. She stares dumbly at Graves, and barely manages to get a shield up in time to stop the second spell. Despite Graves sentencing her to death just hours ago, based on some harebrained conspiracy theory he seemingly pulled out of his ass at the last minute, Tina had still wanted to believe it was all due to a misunderstanding. Graves was missing Credence. The investigation was taking its toll on him. The election as barely a month away. It would all sort itself out if she just managed to get some solid proof.

Now, staring at the man she had looked up to as both a mentor and friend, she finally understands there was no misunderstanding on his side. The knowledge sits cold and bitter in her chest, and it takes all she has to keep deflecting the spells thrown her way.

“Tina, you’re always turning up where you are least wanted” Graves growls at her, before wandlessly throwing a no-maj automobile at her head. As she scurries away to avoid being smashed into a pulp, Graves disapparates away, chasing after Credence and Newt.

Tina stands on trembling legs, looking at the wreckage around her in dismay. Credence will be so upset once he finally regains his senses, she thinks, to be the cause of all this destruction will break his heart. Of course, learning that the man he loves has gone mad may very well destroy him altogether, if the man himself does not do it first.   
  
***

Tina makes her way into City Hall’s Subway Station just in time to stop Credence from murdering both the man he loves and the one Tina herself may have a small crush on.

“Credence, no!” she shouts at the swirling mass of darkness on the platform “Don’t do this. Please” she begs him.

“Keep talking, Tina” Newt encourages her as he and Graves start to get up from the ground “Keep talking to him, he’ll listen to you. He’s listening”

Tina cannot tell whether the mass of darkness that used to be Credence is listening or pondering on the best way to kill the three of them together, but she trusts Newt’s advice.

“I know what that woman did to you” she says, and this time she can see the way the Obscurial shifts at the sound of her voice, almost as if drawing into itself. She continues, slowly approaching him “I know that you’ve suffered. You need to stop this now. Newt and I will protect you. This man…” and she looks at Graves then, fighting the tears of betrayal springing into her eyes “he is just using you” Using all of us.

“Don’t listen to her, Credence” Graves interrupts her “I want you to be free” he beckons the Obscurial, sounding like a villain straight out of a no-maj movie. Once this is all done and over with, Tina is going to punch him in his irritatingly handsome face for all the grief he is putting poor Credence through.

Despite that, Graves’ voice seems to calm the Obscurial, and the swirling darkness starts to slowly diminish and coalescence into a hunched over figure. 

“It’s all right” Tina says, trying her best to sound reassuring and keep a watchful eye over Graves at the same time “That’s it”

Just as she thinks she can start to make out Credence’s dark curls between the tendrils of darkness, the full Auror Department storms into the station, wands raised and at the ready. Tina immediately puts herself between them and Credence, raising her arms to make herself as big and imposing as possible.

“Don’t, you’ll frighten him” she begs.

“Wands down!” Graves’ growls at them, showing the first glimpse of common sense in weeks “This is my fiancée, you idiots. Anyone harms him, they’ll answer to me.” 

The Aurors visibly hesitate the moment Graves proclaims the identity of the Obscurial. It is obviously one thing to strike down an anonymous mass of black magic, and quite a different one to point your wand at your boss’ dearly beloved fiancée. Especially if said boss has been behaving like a living nightmare out of Hell for the few weeks he has been without his lover. Tina can tell all her fellow Aurors are having very vivid visions as to what their professional future may look like if they so much as harm a hair out of Credence’s head.

“What is the meaning of this?!” barks a new voice from within the tunnel, and the Aurors quickly part to let President Picquery come through. She has her wand out and a very unimpressed look on her face. Tina nearly takes a step back the moment she turns that look on her.

“It’s Credence!” she blurts out “The Obscurial. It’s Credence. Madame President. Sir”

Picquery’s eyebrows climb to the rim of her headdress “Mr. Graves?” she asks, turning to her right hand man “Mind to explain why your fiancée has just destroyed half the city?”

Graves not even looks at her as he climbs into the platform and approaches the Obscurial.

“Percival!” the President shouts at his back. At the other end of the platform, the Obscurial shifts, expanding once again, black tendrils crawling over the walls and into the ceiling.

“I’m dealing with it, Madame President” Graves impatiently responds “Now, Credence, my love-”

“You get the fuck away from him!” interrupts a familiar voice from the top of the stairs.

Tina turns to look, same as everyone else, to the two new figures standing at the top of the stairs. One, she recognises as Auror Martinez. She has her leather trenchcoat on, covered in dust and debris, same as her face and hair, and looks quite different from her usual put together self. She is holding up a man, even more dirty and battered than she is. His clothes, if they can even be called that, are covered in a disgusting mix of sweat, dirt, and blood. He has dark hair falling in messy clumps over his face, half covered by a dense, unkempt, beard, and his dark eyes shine dangerously from underneath heavy eyebrows as he points his wand at Graves.

“Get the fuck away from him, you bastard” the man repeats as he haltingly makes his way down the stairs, Martinez’s hold on him clearly the only thing preventing him from falling flat on his face.

“Percival…?” Tina hears the President whisper next to hear, voice almost trembling.

“Aurors, arrest this man” the man orders, and as he gets closer Tina can definitely recognise Percival Graves’ familiar scowl, even hidden between layers of caked dirt and limp hair. She looks back at the Graves on the platform, in his perfectly pressed suit and carefully combed hair, a sneer now marring his face as he looks at the new arrivals. She raises her wand, hesitating between the two men, as the Obscurial roars back to life in the background.

“Credence, my love” the Graves on the platform starts again, ignoring his double, the President and the full squad of Aurors with their wands pointed at him “Don’t listen to them”

“Don’t listen to him, Credence!” the newly appeared Graves shouts, desperation clear on his hoarse sounding voice. He lurches forward, stumbling out of Martinez’s grip, to approach the Obscurial himself, wand firmly pointed at his doppelganger  “Grindelwald, you sick bastard, back off”

Multiple gasps of shock and surprise can be heard through the station, even over the increasingly threatening roar of the Obscurial. Tina is rooted to her spot, staring at the man she had thought was Graves. Grindelwald. Suddenly a lot of things start making sense. The errant behavior. The fixation on the Barebone sisters and the refusal to investigate Grindelwald’s supporters. The bizarre interrogation and subsequent execution order. She feels immediate relief at knowing none of that was done by Graves himself, followed by crushing dismay at the realisation that she had failed to notice a Dark Wizard had taken her boss’ place.

Grindelwald moves fast, and before any of them have time to react, he has blasted Graves clear across the station, his body landing with a sickening crunch against the rails. He then turns, spinning gracefully on his feet, to deflect the curses the Aurors throw at him, batting stunners and blasting curses away as easily as a if they were a bunch of flies. 

He is going to escape, Tina thinks, as she watches him advance, undeterred, across the platform. Not her spells, nor those of her fellow Aurors seem to as much as faze him, and President Picquery, by all accounts the only witch powerful enough to challenge him, seems to be more focused on Graves’ body lying in a crumpled heap a few feet away than the Dark Wizard making his way towards her.

She notices Newt searching for something in his pockets, when the black, swirling mass of the Obscurial comes barrelling in, tackling Grindelwald to the ground, and swallowing him whole before he can disapparate away. The Obscurial twists and screeches, darkness compressing and once again taking form, until the black mass is gone and just Credence is left standing, face ashen and eyes blown wide with terror, as he stares at the  body lying on his feet. He lifts his gaze to look at Tina and Piqcuery, before it drifts towards where Graves is still lying unconscious on the tracks.

“Credence…” Tina starts as she takes a hesitant step towards him.

Credence just lets out a pitiful whimper, eyes still fixed on Graves’ body, before they roll back into his head and he crumples to the floor like a puppet with its strings cut.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one chapter to go! Expect fluffy feelings and happy reunions on the next one.
> 
> As always, comments are very deeply appreciated, and you can always come holler at me in tumblr: dailandin. I'm not the most active blogger ever, but I promise I alway reply :)
> 
> On a completely unrelated note: Holy shit guys, Katherine Waterston is 37 years old! Only 3 years younger than Farrell. I was shock, she looks way younger.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! We're finally at the end of this! First of all, I want to thank everyone who read, commented and kudo'd this fic, your magnificient response and enthusiasm has been invaluable in helping me write the whole story. Disclosure: I had never, never finished a fic before. I spent years simply going through headcanons in my head, and I did try my hand a year ago with a fic I left unfinishied. Your comments and support have been key in motivating me and keeping me engaged with my own story, so thank you, thank you, thank you everyone. I literally couldn't have done it without you.
> 
> I know there have been comments on tumblr about the gradence fandom being too small and "dying out". Well, small it may be, it's still filled with awesome people, and as far as "dying out" is concerned, I have several fic ideas in the pipeline ready to be put to paper.
> 
> Now, enough rambling and enjoy the fic!

Percival awakes to Seraphina dozing off in an uncomfortable looking visitor chair next to his bed. She is wearing a simple, plain headscarf, and even simpler and plainer clothes. Her face is bare of any make up, and Percival can see the dark circles under her eyes.

He opens his mouth to get her attention, but his throat is dry from disuse, and the only thing that comes out is a raspy, stuttering cough that makes his sore ribs ache. Still, the small, pathetic noise is enough to startle Seraphina awake, and she sits up in a fast, jerky movement, looking dazedly around the room, before her eyes finally settle on Percival.

“You’re awake” she says, something that may be a smile insinuating itself at the corner of her lips.

Percival nods, unwilling to trust his voice again, and too tired and weak to do anything else. He feels as if he had been run over by a no-maj tank, there is not an inch of his body that is not sore or aching in pain. His burning, parched throat feels almost inconsequential next to the relentless pounding in his head, or the sharp, insistent pain drilling in his right hip. The thin, hard mattress of his hospital bed is definitely not helping matters.

“Don’t move” Seraphina unnecessarily instructs him, patting his shoulder and causing a fresh burst of pain at the touch “You’re in Wilkison’s Hospital, Grindelwald is dead, and Credence is fine. Hold your questions for later, I’ll call the Healers” she says, as she stands up and heads out the door, ignoring Percival’s pitiful whimper of protest.

He is left alone in the room, staring at the vacant wood chair next to his bed, and the peeling white paint of the wall, as his brain clumsily tries to sort through his memories to piece together how he ended up here.

He remembers Grindelwald. The mere memory of him, of his high, shrill laugh, and upsetting, mismatched eyes, is enough to cause goosebumps to erupt all over his skin, despite the pleasant temperature of the room and the comforting warmth of his bedding. He remembers the torture. _Crucio_ , after _Crucio_ , after _Crucio_ (and who knew it was possible to grow insensitive to it all after a while?), and he remembers the taunting, his own face staring back at him from across his badly lit cell, features distorted as if reflected on a broken mirror.

He  kind of remembers the explosion that set him free as well, even if he has some trouble understanding it, the way thick, black, smoke burst through the ceiling and then vanished in an angry storm. The memory of the moment he realised he had been kept prisoner in his own damn cellar is as clear and painful as the realisation itself. After that is when things start to get muddy.

Martinez had been there, he still does not know why, looking shocked, terrified, and as battered as a soldier just out of the trenches. She had shouted some explanations at him, in between frantically cast _Episkey_ s. Something about magical beasts rampaging through New York and Theseus Scamander, and Credence ( _Credence_ who usually had enough trouble lighting a candle on a good day) somehow being the cause of it all, up to and including, the complete destruction of more than half of Graves Manor.

The sight of the Obscurus ( _Credence_ ’s Obscurus) rampaging through the city is one he is not likely to forget anytime soon. He does not know how he ended up in City Hall’s Station, although he distantly remembers snatching Martinez’s wand out of her hand without permission at some point  in the way. Tina and Seraphina were there, as well as fucking Grindelwald, still wearing his face like a fancy costume, and around half the Auror Department, all of them hovering about like absolutely incompetent idiots. Credence had been there as well. Or the swirling mass of darkness that he had become, anyway. Grindelwald had attacked him. Or he had attacked Grindelwald, he cannot quite remember, and then suddenly Grindelwald was down, and Percival was staring at his own face, features marred by the Obscurus marks, and eyes glassy and empty of life. There had been shouting. Lots of it. Mostly from Seraphina. Credence had been laying on the ground, like a lifeless doll, the slow rise and fall of his chest the only sign of life within him.

He closes his eyes, desperately trying to vanish that image from his head. Credence cannot be dead. He remembers handing him over to the Healers. He had still been breathing then. If that has changed in the time Percival has been unconscious there will be Hell to pay.

His recollection is interrupted by Seraphina’s return with a small army of Healers, and for the next half hour his attention is focused on answering their questions, as they poke and prod his body, and listening to their diagnostic (malnutrition, high probability of nervous system damage, six broken ribs, and a completely shattered hip).

“We did our best to fix it” the head Healer tells him, a bitter, resigned look on her face “but the bones had been shattered beyond repair by the time you were admitted. I’m afraid you will have a limp for the rest of your life”

“I already bought you a cane” Seraphina pipes up, lifting the aforementioned object from where it had been resting against her chair. Lacquered black wood, with gold embellishments and a delicately carved handle in the shape of a wampus cat, it is beautiful enough to almost distract Percival from the fact that he has become a cripple “You can now become the grumpy old man we always knew you were meant to be,” she jokingly adds, with a smirk “use it to whack your Aurors across the ass when they are slacking off in their jobs”

Percival snorts at that, amused (and more than a little interested) at the chance the to use the cane to knock some sense back into his Aurors’ thick skulls.

“Thank you, Seraphina” he says, as the Healers promptly vacate the room, their job done for the moment.

Seraphina smiles sadly back at him, rests the cane against his bed, and sits back down on the visitors chair, before scooting over to him.

“That’s what you get for trying to play the hero after getting blasted across the no-maj subway” she says.

“Playing the hero…?” Percival questions her, brows furrowing as he struggles to remember “When- what do you mean-?”

“Don’t stress yourself” Seraphina says, voice dry, yet soft “Grindelwald probably gave you a concussion with that blast spell. Here” she adds, handing him a well-thumbed copy of _The Ghost_ “This may jog your memory”

Percival accepts the paper warily, and does a double take when his eyes land on the photo on the cover. He barely recognises himself. He looks wild, dangerous. His hair is unkempt and overgrown, flying in all directions, his beard grown past what passes as acceptable in polite society, and his clothes are falling apart at the seams, his tattered shirt falling open dramatically and exposing his chest. Even as he registers all this, he is kept from dwelling too much on the damage done to his public image, when his eyes land on the figure his photographed self is carrying in his arms. Credence. His eyes are closed, and his head falls back over Percival’s arms, limbs swinging completely inert at his sides.

“You said he was fine” he says, looking at her accusingly. Credence does not look even remotely fine in the picture, rather the opposite.

“He is, you big doofus” Seraphina snorts, taking the paper away from him “He just fainted due to magical exhaustion. He could probably have walked out of the station on his own two feet, given enough time, if you hadn’t gone full on caveman and insisted on carrying him in your arms, probably damaging your hip beyond repair in the process”

“I don’t remember it” Percival says.

“It was all very heroic and dramatic” Seraphina replies “The Press loved it. Wilfur Pemblebee looked about ready to cry from joy after his assistant took the picture. Of course, the image was slightly ruined when you fell flat on your face not two seconds after”

“And Credence-”

“Credence is _fine_. We took him to the Graves Estate, as a safety measure, while Mr. Scamander polishes his Obscurus extraction method”

“Theseus? What does he have to do with all of this?” Last Percival heard, Theseus had been searching for Grindelwald in Norway.

“His little brother” Seraphina corrects him “He is a… magizoologist” there is a mix of hesitancy and distaste in the way she says the last word, and Percival wonders what the story is behind that “He had had a previous encounter with an Obscurial, and believes he may be able to extract the Obscurus from Credence. In the meantime, the protection wards at the Estate should ensure there is not a second Obscurus rampage, while preventing the Press and other undesirable elements from bothering Credence while he recovers”

“That’s very...kind of you” Percival says “Thank you for looking after him” _Thank you for not having him executed on the spot_ he does not say, but hopes Seraphina understands it anyway.

She snorts softly, looking away from him and fiddling distractedly with the small pile of dated newspaper copies on his nightstand.

“Well, obviously, I couldn’t exactly arrest him after everything, could I? Consciously or not, your boy killed Grindelwald, arguably the most dangerous Dark Wizard in decades. Both Press and Public have hailed him as a hero, and there’s already talks within the ICW of awarding him an Order of Merlin”

Percival raises his eyebrows in surprise. He had been ready to challenge the Supreme Wizarding Court, the ICW, and Seraphina herself, to absolve Credence of any charges for breaking the Statute of Secrecy during his Obscurus’ rampage. He had not counted on the Wizarding World being far more afraid of Grindelwald and his War, than they were of discovery itself.

“The damage to the city,” he nervously starts. He had not been able to see much of it, too focused on finding Credence and getting him as far away as possible from Grindelwald, but from what he had seen, there is no way MACUSA would have been able to dress it up as ‘gas leaks’ to the no-maj authorities “the Obscurus flying around Manhattan, how did you contain that?” Nothing short of mass obliviations would have done the trick.

Seraphina sighs, looking incredibly put off by his question “Mr. Scamander” she bites out with a distinct lack of enthusiasm “he had a Thunderbird and some weird, unclassified, and probably illegal, memory altering serum. The Thunderbird generated a storm and somehow managed to mix the serum within it, the ensuing rain effectively obliviated all no-majs, leaving enough time for our emergency teams to carry out the repairs”

“He had a Thunderbird” Percival dumbly repeats, because what the hell “Did he carry it in his pocket, or…?”

“In a suitcase” Seraphina says, looking by all means as if she had just swallowed something incredibly unpleasant. Percival can sympathize. He may have yet to interact with Mr. Scamander The Younger, but from what he has heard so far, he can already feel a headache forming “He has suitcase full of magical creatures. Some of them escaped. It’s a long story. Goldstein can probably tell it better than me”

“Tina?” Percival asks.

“I think she is sweet on him” Seraphina responds, disbelief plain in her voice, clearly unable to understand the appeal herself.

Percival pinches the bridge of his nose. He forcefully breathes in, and out, slowly. Right. There will be time to address Mr. Scamander’s very illegal suitcase of even more illegal creatures, Tina’s role in all this mess, and her worryingly bad taste in men, later on. First things first, he tells himself.

“What about the election?” Press and Public’s acceptance of Credence aside, there is now way a full Obscurus rampage and Grindelwald’s impersonation of him, do not damage their candidacy in some way.

“We still enjoy a comfortable lead” Seraphina smiles and, at Percival’s raised, disbelieving eyebrow, she adds “Osmander did try to go after Credence and yourself, but your sister slapped him with so many lawsuits for defamation of character, slander and invasion of privacy, he will be quite distracted trying to avoid prison to cause any more trouble, at least for a while”

“Sounds like you have everything under control, Madame President” Percival jokes, doing his best to hide a flinch of pain when Seraphina punches him on the shoulder in response.

“Hardly. We’ve just been lucky that all the chaos has, so far, played in our favour” she says “I can’t wait for you to be back, honestly. Grindelwald was not only a piss poor Director of MLE, but also a frankly terrible bureaucrat. We’re still finding classified documents stuck in the more unimaginable places in Woolworth. The man was chronically allergic to paperwork”

“I’ll do my best to recover promptly” Percival says “And let me thank you again for your help in all of this. I really appreciate it”

“You better” Seraphina tartly responds “I had to fend off an army of worried, anxious, and angry Graves while you were out. Your mother looked ready to hex me when she first arrived, and your sister even came with a lawsuit half-drafted under her arm”

“Sounds terrible” Percival says, doing nothing to hide the mirth in his tone. He can just about imagine the scene.

“Don’t laugh, you utter pillock” Seraphina snaps “I had to sit there, surrounded by your hex-happy relatives and you’re Obscurial fiancée, while the Head Healer recited a list of injuries so long it hurt just to hear them. Credence became more smoky with every new injury listed. Your father _cried_ on me” she accusingly hisses at him, as if expecting Percival to apologise for his progenitor's emotional outburst.

Percival cannot contain a burst of laughter at the mental image, although the burning pain that erupts across his chest, as well as Seraphina’s terrifying glare, cut his amusement short.

“I’m sorry Papá got his feelings all over you” he says, still smiling “I’m sure it was quite a traumatizing event. I’ll do my best to make it up to you with a speedy recovery”

Seraphina sniffs loudly “See that you do” she says, getting up and collecting her things “I need my best man back on the job to sort out this mess. You do me no good lying in a hospital bed, and it only serves to make George worry. You know how upset he gets when you get hurt”

“Of course” Percival says “I do hate upsetting George”

Seraphina nods at him, curt, face half turned away, before she makes for the door. Percival does her the courtesy not to notice, or point out, the fresh tears gathering at the corner of her eyes. It is only fair. After all, she has not mentioned his own.

 

***

 

The next time he wakes up, Mamá is standing at the foot of his bed, impeccably dressed in a thick fur coat, and glaring daggers at him from underneath her elaborate, flowery pamela. She is clutching her flamingo umbrella, in between glove-covered hands, and looks about ready to whack him on the head with it.

“Mamá” he rasps out, surprised, while searching for the cane Seraphina gifted him with out of the corner of his eye. He does not believe Mamá would really try to attack him with her umbrella, not while he is lying sick in bed, at least, but it always pays out to be prepared.

“Percival” she responds, her voice calm and pleasant, betraying none of her feelings. It does not need to, the sound of his full name on her lips already sends a shiver running down Percival’s back.

“How’s Credence?” He asks in trepidation, wanting to, at least, get an update on his faincée’s well-being, before the rant he is sure is going to come “Seraphina said he was staying at the Estate, that Mr. Scamander was looking for a way to separate the Obscurus-”

“From its host, yes,” Mamá interrupts him, her eyes scrutinising his every movement “the extraction happened this morning. Fully successful” she informs him, and Percival releases the breath he was not even aware he had been holding “your boy is safe, healthy, and blessedly free of magical parasites. He is feeling a bit drained, but that was only to be expected. Mr. Scamander expects him to make a full recovery within the week”

“Thank Merlin” Percival murmurs, closing his eyes and leaning back against the pillows, a sigh of relief escaping his lips. _Credence is safe_ , his mind chants in an endless loop, and he hugs the knowledge close to his chest. Thankful that his own stupidity has not costed the boy his life, as well as his broken heart.

After a while Percival opens his eyes to find Mamá has moved to sit at his bedside. Sorrow has mostly replaced anger in her face, and he does not even flinch when she raises a trembling hand to caress his cheek.

“Oh, Percy, you silly boy,” she says, smiling sadly at him “you truly do love him, don’t you?”

“Of course” he says “I wouldn’t have asked him to marry me, otherw- Ouch!” he exclaims in surprise when Mamá suddenly pinches his ear, interrupting him.

“None of that Campaign Propaganda with me, young man!” Mamá berates him, waving a disapproving finger at his face.

“What- what ‘propaganda’?” Percival stammers out, dread twisting in his stomach.

Mamá slaps softly him on the back of the head.

“Don’t play dumb, Percy, you know I can’t stand it” she reprimands him “You know perfectly well what propaganda I’m referring to. All those stories you and Seraphina cooked up about your relationship with Credence, and that supposed engagement. I will have no more of that. Especially after it nearly got the both of you killed”

Percival stares at her in abject, shocked horror “You _knew_?!” he asks, his voice breaking up embarrassingly at the exclamation.

Mamá rolls her eyes in exasperation “Of course I knew, you silly boy” she answers, patting his cheek in consolation, as Percival continues to stare at her, completely dumbfounded “All those years of running away from the smallest sign of commitment, and we’re supposed to believe you got engaged to someone after just four months, all on your own? Please, give us a little more credit”

“We?” Percival asks, alarmed. Is the whole family in on this?

“Your father and I” Mamá says, and Percival lets out a big sigh of relief “Dear Credence confirmed our theory during your visit to the Estate. Poor thing, he almost had a heart attack when we confronted him about it”

“You didn’t say anything” Percival says, looking back at her. Mamá sighs.

“That poor boy was madly in love with you” she starts, eyes going soft. Percival tries to swallow against the knot that has suddenly formed at the base of his throat “and you… Well, you didn’t seem quite so opposed to the idea as you probably liked to believe, if the way you stared at him when you thought nobody else was looking was any indication. We thought that playing along would help you realise your feelings. Give you a little push. We only wanted you to be happy”

Percival nods, blinking rapidly against the tears forming on his eyes “It took me too long” he murmurs “Too long”

“Oh, Percy” Mamá says, before drawing him into her embrace. He lets her draw her arms around him, and burrows into the familiar, flower-scented curve of her neck, letting her pet his hair like she used to do when he was still too young to be embarrassed about motherly displays of affection. It feels safe, comforting, and reassuring in its familiarity. Above all, it feels like relief. No more lies or pretenses standing between them. He lets himself cry for the first time in months.

The sound of the door opening makes him raise his head, only to find Seraphina standing in the doorway. She is carrying a tray with two paper coffee cups, and stops dead in her tracks the moment she spots Mamá and the tears on Percival’s face.

Percival is about to raise a hand to brush his eyes, unwilling to show such sentimentality in front of Seraphina, when he sees her face go from shock, to alarm, to full blown panic.

She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and turns abruptly on her heels, leaving the room as quickly as she came.

Percival closes his eyes, snorting softly into his mother’s shoulder, as his world slowly starts to re-align itself back into place.

 

***

 

_Director Graves Reinstated as Head of MLE: President Picquery’s Grave Mistake?_

Credence frowns at the paper’s headline, before letting his eyes slide to the photo underneath it. Percival’s likeness stares back at him, from beneath bushy, stern eyebrows. He looks closer to his old self than the last time Credence saw him, lying unconscious in a cot at Wilkinson's, but the after-effects of his captivity are still there, plain for the whole world to see. The cane is the most obvious, but Credence cannot stop himself from cataloguing all of them, from the deep, bruised circles under his eyes, to the gauntness of his face and limbs.

“That your fella?” Mr. Kowalski asks him, making Credence look up sharply and tuck the newspaper against his chest, effectively hiding the photo from sight. Mr. Kowalski just smiles calmly at him, amusement clear in his dark eyes “Handsome bloke” he says, prompting Credence to blush, as if he were the one being complimented “Lots of eyebrows, though”

Credence smiles “It runs in the family” he says, forcing himself to relax.

“Yeah” Mr. Kowalski agrees, throwing a quick look towards the outer terrace, where Mr. Graves is listening intently to Mr. Scamander, white brows furrowed in concentration “I can definitely see the resemblance”

Mr. Kowalski is a bit of an odd duck, Credence thinks. He had been spared from the mass no-maj obliviation, for reasons that are still not quite clear to Credence, and had later arrived to the Graves Estate along with the Goldstein sisters and Mr. Scamander, much to the Graves initial surprise, and later delight.

“Percy will _flip_ when he sees him” Nim had announced, with an unholy amount of glee, after being introduced.

Despite their initially petty motives, the Graves have been nothing but welcoming to Mr. Kowalski since his arrival, even more so when he demonstrated his skills in the kitchen. Credence has recently heard Nim declare her intention to sue anyone who so much as dares to threaten her new favorite pastry supplier, and Tristan has offered Mr. Kowalski enough money to start his bakery thrice over.

“I don’t quite know how to tell him that wizarding currency won’t be accepted by a normal bank” Mr. Kowalski confided in Credence just the other day, looking wistfully at the massive bag full of gold coins Tristan had proudly awarded him.

Credence had nodded in understanding. For the son of a supposedly illustrious banking family, Percival really was also quite hopeless when it came to money, both wizarding and no-maj.

Still, for all that he cannot as much as generate a small spark of magic, Mr. Kowalski has adapted surprisingly fast to the daily going ons of a wizarding household. The man is seemingly possessed of an innate ability to just roll with new things, without letting them bother him just one bit. Credence cannot help but envy him that facility.

“Do you know if he will be coming to visit soon?” Mr. Kowalski asks him.

Credence raises a shoulder in a half-aborted shrug. It has been ten days since the whole Obscurus debacle, almost a week since Mr. Scamander finally managed to extract the thing from him, and Percival has yet to set a foot in the Estate.

Mrs. Graves has already explained to him that Percival has his own recovery to go through, the damage done by weeks of imprisonment and torture at Grindelwald’s hands, not exactly something that can be swept away with a wave of a wand. And he did send a lovely gift basket after the successful Obscurus extraction, promising Credence a ‘most overdue talk’. Still, there have been no news from him since then, and Credence is about burning with anticipation.

“I see…” muses Mr. Kowalski, a thoughtful look on his face “Say, why don’t you come help me in the kitchen? I promised Mrs. Wolfhart I would bake her a true szarlotka for afternoon tea today”

Credence smiles thinly at him, grateful for the invitation “Are you sure?” he asks.

Credence’s magic has been completely out of control since they got rid of the Obscurus. Spells that previously took all his concentration and left him exhausted, now barely require any effort at all. In fact, using too much power has become the new norm. His _Lumos_ spell left both Queenie and Mr. Graves half blind from brightness, there is still a living room chair stuck on the ceiling from his latest attempt at _Wingardium Leviosa_ , and his first try at _Reparo_ refurbished the totality of Estate’s West Wing.

It seems as if, after years of being repressed, his magic is now enjoying every opportunity it has to show itself, disregarding whether or not Credence actually wants it to. While some incidents are inoffensive - like the time his clothes kept changing color to reflect his current mood-, or even helpful - like how the right book will levitate into his hands the moment he enters the Library-, some others, not so much. The last time he had helped Mr. Kowalski bake, the cake mass gained sentience and expanded until it took over the whole counter. It would probably have invaded the whole kitchen had the house elves been unable to stop it.

“I wouldn’t want to cause another accident” he says.

“Nonsense” Mr. Kowalski replies, grinning as if it all where a joke to him “I like to live on the edge”

 

***

 

Much to Credence’s relief all the ingredients stay inanimate, as they well should, and the szarlotka turns out to be a resounding success with the Graves.

Credence carefully picks at his own slice, leaning into his deck chair, and letting himself relax. The whole family has adjourned to the terrace for their afternoon tea, where a few warming charms and soft blankets help keep the cold at bay, and the dimly lit magical lights enhance the natural beauty of the lake and create a soft and soothing atmosphere.

“Letter for Master Credence” announces one of the house elves. Credence has stayed at the Estate for over a month now, and he still cannot tell the different elves apart from each other. He feels frankly terrible about it, and it makes him miss Helga and her familiar dry disposition even more.

“Thank you” he says, smiling, as he accepts the envelope. The elf nods briefly at him before disapparating with a soft pop. He nervously turns the envelope over in his hands. _Credence Barebone, Graves Estate_ it states, in Percival’s spidery writing. Credence can feel his breath catch in the back of his throat. He fumbles, struggling to tear open the envelope, his hands too shaky to properly focus on the task.

“Is it from Percy?” Mrs. Graves asks, leaning over from her seat across the terrace.

Credence merely nods in response, not trusting his voice. Queenie smiles encouragingly at him from where she is lounging on a garden sofa with Mr. Kowalski. Sat opposite her, Tina watches on with a slightly pinched expression. Credence looks away from them both and focuses back on the letter in his hands.

At first glance, the letter is nothing but a nonsensical, rambling apology, in which Percival takes the blame for everything: from his own capture at Grindelwald’s hands, to the Obscurus’ rampage across Manhattan, and the very existence of the Obscurus itself. Credence skims past the endless _mea culpas_ , unwilling to put up with Percival’s deeply flawed martyr logic, until his eyes reach the last paragraph.

“He says he’s coming tomorrow” he tells Mrs. Graves in a daze. _Tomorrow._ The date feels simultaneously too close and too far away.

“As little notice as usual,” scoffs Mrs. Graves “the manners on this boy. Does he behave like that at MACUSA as well?” she asks a surprised Tina.

“He is the Director” Tina stammers out “That is, he is allowed to set the meetings at his own convenience, and most of the time his secretary does it for him, anyway…”

“Preposterous” Mrs. Graves says, before addressing Mr. Scamander “I’m afraid your creatures will have to go back into the suitcase for the duration of my son’s visit. While I have no doubt he will be grateful for your aid in Grindelwad’s defeat and the Obscurus’ removal, he is sure to have some strong thoughts about the Erumpent you sent stampeding through Central Park a few weeks ago”

“It was looking for a mate,” Mr. Scamander mumbles mutinously into the collar of his jacket “and, anyway, Mr. Graves probably won’t even know about that small incident. I didn’t mention Gertrud in my statement-“

“You named that thing _Gertrud?_ ” Tina exclaims.

“What’s wrong with Gertrud?” Mr. Scamander defends himself “My aunt is called that. Lovely woman, knits me a jumper every Christmas. And, as I was saying, MACUSA is only aware of the niffler, Frank and Pickett, so I’m sure Mr. Graves won’t be too upset to see them-“

“I wrote all about the escaped creatures in my report” Tina blurts out, and then turns bright red when Mr. Scamander, Mr. Kowalski and Queenie stare at her in surprise “It was the proper thing to do” she whispers, hunching her shoulders up to her ears “I couldn’t possibly _lie_ in an official report, Newt”

“And your honesty honors you, Miss Goldstein” Mr. Graves says, interrupting Mr. Scamander’s angry huff “I’m sure my son will greatly appreciate it. Now, Mr. Scamander, as much as I have enjoyed getting to know your creatures over the past days, I agree with my wife that it’s better to keep them contained within the suitcase for the time being. Percy has never been very keen on animals, magic or otherwise, and the Healers did say he needs to avoid stressful situations during his recovery”

“Even the niffler?” Tristan asks in dismay.

All Graves had been quite accepting of Mr. Scamander’s creatures from the very first day, and while for most of them they have remained ass nothing more than a passing curiosity, Tristan looks at the niffler as if it were the second coming of Jesus Christ himself.

“Just think of how much money we would save on security testing and proofing!” he had exclaimed in delight after the creature had stolen into his private room and made away with all his cufflinks “We could release it in Gringotts, see how their dragons fared against the little fella”

“Especially the niffler” Mrs. Graves sentences. She still hasn’t forgiven it for stealing her wedding ring.

 

***

 

“I would suggest the burgundy waistcoat with the black tie” Credence’s reflection tells him, calmly examining his nails and eyeing him from the corner of his eye “It does _wonders_ for your complexion, a bit of color, without being too overpowering”

Credence looks at the aforementioned item of clothing, peeking out from the massive pile of clothes strewn on top of his bed. Somehow, despite owning more clothes than he ever imagined possible, he can’t seem to find a fitting outfit for his long-awaited reunion with Percival.

“Or you could just wear the dreadfully horrendous and ill-fitting disaster you are currently sporting” the mirror snidely comments, primly eyeing Credence up and down, one hand on his hip, and the other held loftily next to his head “Your choice”

The mirror’s new snarky and fashion-savvy personality has to be one of the worst side-effects of Credence’s wild magic. It was bad enough to have his own reflection point out the small wrinkles in his appearance, such as a stray hair, or a crocked tie, he did not need this new, needlessly fabulous, enhanced version who is all too gleeful to criticize his every choice, and even refuses to properly reflect his appearance when it does not meet his ridiculously high standards.

“It’s Percival’s shirt” Credence mutinously replies. It had gotten mixed up with his own clothes during the Campaign Trail, and he had conveniently forgotten to give it back. He has since taken to wearing it whenever he is upset or distressed, relishing the casual intimacy of wearing Percival’s own clothes and the comfort that brings him.

His reflection in the mirror sighs dramatically, pointedly rolling his eyes, and making an exaggerated gesture with both hands that seems to want to encompass the totality of the disaster that is Credence.

He considers calling Queenie. She always seems to know the best outfit for him to wear on every occasion. But then he remembers she was going to go on a picnic with Mr. Kowalski, Tina and Mr. Scamander, and given the time, it is safe to assume they have already left. Credence sighs, throwing a blanket over the mirror to avoid more snippy critiques, and resigns himself to asking one of the Graves for help. Mrs. Graves will surely be willing to help him, given her own desire to turn the sham relationship into a reality.

He distractedly puts his pajama bottoms back on, and starts rummaging through the pile of clothes on his bed, looking for the robe, he _knows_ is buried in there somewhere, when he hears someone politely clear their throat behind him.

He freezes.

Percival was supposed to arrive in the afternoon, he thinks in a panic, his own letter had said so. He looks fixedly at the pile of clothes in front of him, his hands still buried beneath the assorted garments, and releases a shaky, stuttering breath. He should have listened to his bitchy mirror and changed into the burgundy waistcoat.

“Credence?” Percival asks from behind him. Credence does not even try to contain the shiver that goes through his body at the sound of his voice.

He unearths his trembling hands from the pile of clothes and, slowly, straightens back up. His heart is beating so loud he can feel the echo of it behind his ears. He takes a deep breath, counts to three, and turns to face the newly arrived Percival.

“Hello, Percival” he says, sounding stupidly smitten and breathless even to his own ears. He should be past that, he thinks, as he tries to arrange his features into something that does not make him look like the lovelorn fool he is.

(He is pretty sure he fails, miserably)

Percival smiles at him, a hesitant, nervous thing that has no place in his normally self-assured and confident face. Although, Credence notices, he does not exactly exude confidence today. His face still looks as tired, and haggard as it did on yesterday’s newspaper, his cheekbones sharp, and overly-defined, over sunken cheeks. The bags behind his eyes have worsened, if that were ever possible, and seem to be made darker from beneath his heavy brows. His clothes fit him better than they did on the newspaper photo, but Credence suspects that has more to do with some improvised tailoring from Helga than any improvement in his own form. He still has the cane, is leaning heavily on it, as he looks at Credence from across the room.

“You’re early” Credence says, unable to help himself from pointing out the obvious. Percival may look like a pale shadow of his best self, but he remains the most handsome man Credence has ever seen, capable of rendering him speechless and stupid with nothing more than his mere presence.

“I needed to see you” Percival replies, and Credence swallows, hating how his pulse speeds up at the naked honesty in Percival’s voice. He so desperately wants to be needed.

“You look good” Credence replies, like a moron, because his brain has apparently taken a leave of absence, leaving him unable to formulate a more intelligent response.

Percival smirks, self-deprecatingly, undoubtedly self-aware of how not-good he looks but unwilling to point out Credence’s blatant lie.

“I mean,” he rushes to correct himself “compared to Wilkinson’s. You look, uh, better?”

“I definitely feel better” Percival politely agrees, awkwardly shifting in place.

Credence cringes, racking his mind for something to say, anything to break the tension and get away from this stilted, polite conversation. It has been months since he has had any trouble talking to Percival, ever since their first Gala, conversation between them has mostly been flowing easy and effortlessly. Credence killed a genocidal maniac to protect him, for God’s sake, they should be way beyond pointless small talk at this stage on their relationship.

“I’ll clean the mess in the room” Credence says, vaguely gesturing behind himself at the mass of clothes spread all over the bed “There should still be enough space in the closet for your stuff, once Helga brings it-“

“Mamá arranged another room for me” Percival softy interrupts him, eyes sad and eyebrows pinched in consternation.

“Oh” whispers Credence, doing a frankly terrible job of hiding his disappointment. They had shared a room during their last visit, and all through the Campaign Trail, surely it had not been too forward of him to assume that would still be the case.

“They know about the engagement” Percival hurries to explain “Or the absence of a proper one, anyway”

Credence flinches, remembering his involuntary role in confirming Mr. and Mrs. Graves’ suspicions over their engagement during their breakfast ambush.

Percival carries on, either not noticing his discomfort or pretending not to “Given the length of our stay here, she thought it may be more comfortable if we each had our own space, given the circumstances”

“I don’t mind sharing” Credence confesses before his brain has a chance to catch up. He sighs. Whatever resistance he had built to the effect Percival’s mere presence seemed to have on his cognitive skills, seems to have banished overnight in the brief time they have been apart. When the totality of Percival’s explanation finally comes through, he asks “What do you mean by the ‘length of our stay’? I thought we would be going back to the Manor soon” As lovely as the Graves Estate is, it still remains Mr. and Mrs. Graves’ domain. Graves’ Manor is Percival’s, and Credence has long started to think of it as _home._

Percival grimaces “There’s no Manor to go back to” he says “Most of it was destroyed during the Obscurus’ attack, it will take months to repair the damage and re-ward it properly”

“I thought the Aurors had repaired the damages” Credence whispers. Tina had told him so the first time he came to, after the incident. _No casualties, and no permanent damages_ she had said, smiling reassuringly down at him and petting his hair, as if he were a nervous kitten. Had she lied to spare him the pain? Anxiety creeps back into his throat as he envisions the streets of New York torn apart.

“They did repair the damages” Percival reassures him “Most of the buildings affected were no-maj constructions, they are pretty straightforward to put back up. The Manor was built with magic. There are spells woven into each of its building blocks, wards in every room. Putting all that back together requires more time and skill. Also, the fact that it was Ground Zero probably accounts for part of the extension of the damage”

Credence nods, stilted, the noose of anxiety around his throat loosening slightly with Percival’s reassurance. He still feels terrible about the Manor, though. He had felt more at home there in seven months than in the Second Salem Church in twenty years. Not that it matters now, seeing as how both buildings are now equally destroyed.

“I’m so, so sorry” he starts to apologize, but Percival cuts his apologies short with an impatient wave of his hand.

“None of that” he says “The Obscurus’ destroying the Manor is the only reason I managed to escape. Had it not been for yo- it, had it not been for _it_ , I would have rotted on that Cellar for Merlin knows how long, and Grindelwald may have gotten away with everything. MACUSA owes you their eternal gratitude and I owe you my life” he looks straight into Credence’s eyes as he says this, looking oddly intense and serious.

Credence raises a shoulder in a half-aborted shrug “It’s not- it’s not like I was much in control at the time. You don’t owe me” he says, with a self-deprecating half-smile.

“I really do” Percival says, a playful smile teasing at the corner of his lips “And not just for defeating Grindelwald. You’ve been helping me with this ridiculous charade for months. If it hadn’t been for your help I would have become a political corpse way before Grindelwald turned me into a real one” he lets out a self-deprecating laugh, shaking his head, before continuing “Merlin, I do not even know how to start repaying you for everything”

“You said you would take me on a date” Credence blurts out, in a momentary and unexpected surge of courage. When Percival stares at him, blinking dazedly in surprise, Credence hurries to clarify, hoping to ride the wave of courage for as long as it will last “When you sent me to the Estate, you told me you would take me to the _Golden Siren_ , once the murder had been solved”

“The _Golden Mermaid”_ Percival corrects him, a pleased, almost disbelieving smile stretching across his lips “You remembered that?”

Now it is Credence’s turn to stare at Percival. Surely the man cannot be that dense, it was practically the only thing Credence thought about during the three weeks he waited at the Estate.

“Of course I remember” He protests, flushing in indignation. As if there was any chance of him forgetting that promise!

“Would you- Do you still want to go?” Percival asks, the eagerness almost palpable in his voice, and the smile still pulling at his lips betraying the façade of unaffected aloofness he is trying to maintain.

Credence does nothing to fight a responding smile of his own “I’d love to” he says, relishing the way his words make a wide smile spread across Percival’s face, crinkling the corners of his eyes and showing of a flash of white, perfect teeth. His heart beats a wild staccato against his chest, and the embers of hope he had thought long dead flare to live once again with a vengeance.

“Tomorrow? I have some business in town, but I could meet you at the Portkey office at six” Percival says, leaning slightly forward over his cane. His smile is as alluring and charming as it had ever been during their affair, but there is a new earnestness to it that has Credence’s heart doing somersaults in his breast and his breath logged in his throat.

“Sure” He manages to burble out. He will need to speak with Mr. Graves to get a Portkey set up, but that is just a minor inconvenience, he will walk to New York on his own two feet if need be.

“Good. That’s good” Percival says, smile still firmly in place. He looks oddly bashful, his fingers tapping a nervous rhythm over the handle of his cane, and the tip of his ears gone suspiciously red. It is a departure from his usually calm and assured self, but Credence finds he likes it all the same. It is somehow reassuring to know he is no longer the only one turning into a stuttering mass of nerves and anxiety during their interactions, even if Percival still manages to handle his embarrassment with a bit more dignity.

Silence stretches between them, and Credence feels as if he should say something, but he cannot stop himself from smiling like a loon at Percival, who delightedly smiles back at him in return, eyes dark with an emotion Credence still hesitates to name.

“Well” Percival says, breaking the silence and the eye contact with a sheepish bow of his head “I should go say my greetings to the rest of my family. I’ll see you around later?”

“Of course” Credence quickly responds, nodding his head eagerly “I’ll see you at lunch”

At this, Percival gives a quick nod, and turns to exit the room. He walks with obvious difficulty, leaning heavily on his cane, and advancing with short, clumsy steps. Credence thinks back to the way he used to strut around, back straight, steps long, and filled with confidence, and feels slightly less guilty about murdering Grindelwald. Were the man not already death, he would probably be looking for ways to break both his legs in retribution.

Percival turns around briefly once he gets to the door, throwing one last, flirty smile at Credence over his shoulder, before he finally exits the room.

The moment he hears the click of the door closing, it is as if his strings have been cut, and Credence flops backward into the bed, bouncing slightly on impact. His cheeks hurt from smiling, and his whole body is abuzz with excitement. He really should know better than to get his hopes up by now, after all the times he misinterpreted where Percival and himself stood with each other, all the times he waited in anticipation for a kiss that never came. He _really_ should know better. And yet.

Never before has he been so sure. So right. Percival no longer feels like an impossible dream, like an aspiration, a distant possibility. A maybe. Now, after months of pretending, after Grindelwald and the Obscurus, Percival feels inevitable.

Credence closes his eyes, letting himself bask in the warmth on his cheeks, and the fluttering butterflies in his belly, letting himself believe, at last, in the possibility of a happy ending.

He thinks back to the photo _The Ghost_ published after the Obscurus incident. Percival, with his dirty hair and torn clothes, carrying Credence’s unconscious body to safety. _He looks like a hero out of a romance novel_ Queenie had said, winking conspiratorially at Credence, who had merely nodded in silent agreement, thinking on how that supposedly made him the heroine in that scenario, and how much he liked the idea. Romance novels, after all, and to the best of his knowledge, tend to end with the hero and the heroine getting together.

(Tina had debated that Percival looked like particularly dirty and unkept tramp, but Credence had quickly tunned her out, too aware now of the fact that she failed to view Percival in any way to could be considered, even remotely, sexual.

Her loss.)

He lets his mind drift in idle fantasies, indulging in the made up images of what their date will be like. He does not know what the _Golden Mermaid_ looks like, but his imagination provides an intimate atmosphere, with low lighting and plush, velvet-covered seats. They will be sat at a table for two. A small one, so that Credence can accidentally knock his feet together with Percival’s underneath it. It will be separated from the rest. Or completely private. He is sure wizards have ways to ensure some intimacy. Percival will take his coat, and pull out a chair for him, complimenting him on his dapper outfit as he does so.

Credence's eyes fly open.

Shit, he thinks, as he stares panickedly at the ceiling, too distressed to even mind his language. The outfit.

He sits up abruptly, making the pile of clothes next to him waver dangerously. Right. He needs a proper outfit for the date. His first date. With Percival. In a fancy wizarding restaurant. It needs to be good, no, not good. It needs to be the best. He has already received Percival wearing a wrinkled, oversized shirt and pyjama pants, there is no saving that now, but for tomorrow there are no excuses.

His mirror had suggested the burgundy waistcoat, and that is the first piece Credence searches for. It is a bit too elaborate for his tastes, the velvety fabric, with the embroidered patterns and the engraved lapels, but it certainly feels and looks elegant enough for such a momentous occasion. He will need a jacket to go with it, and a shirt, and pants. And they will all need to match. He sighs. The mountain of clothes on top of his bed looks increasingly intimidating, and Credence seriously considers putting on the first thing he sees. If past history is any indicator, Percival is not exactly picky when it comes to his partner’s clothes, he had had no problem sleeping with Credence when he wore nothing more than an ill-fitting, old and plain suit, after all.

He is rummaging through the pile of clothes, when the door to his room bangs open, handle smacking loudly against the wall. Credence turns around, startled, dropping the waistcoat he was holding in his hands, in surprise.

“Percival?” he asks in disbelief, eyeing the man standing at the door, breathing heavily and leaning even harder than before on his cane. Some strands of hair have slipped off from their usual severe style and fall over his forehead. His eyes look oddly intense as he fixates them on Credence.

“You know,” Percival starts, limping into the room and waving the door closed with a quick gesture of his arm and, wait - Are those flowers he is holding in his hand? “I thought, why wait until tomorrow? With our luck there will be a Goblin uprising by morning, or some such other disaster, postponing this date unnecessarily again”

Credence nods dumbly along, in shock, his brain still trying to catch up with the events unfolding right before his eyes. He believes Percival is asking him on a date _now_. He seemingly even brought flowers which, now that he gets a closer look, do look oddly familiar…

“Are those your Mother’s _Angel’s Trumpets_ ?” Credence asks looking at the flowers in trepidation. Mrs. Graves had proudly showed him her garden a few weeks ago, and explained the many uses of most plants there. He distinctly remembers _Angel’s Trumpets_ being labeled as highly poisonous.

Percival furrows his brows at him, looking confused by the question, before directing a curious look to the flowers in his hand, as if noticing their presence for the first time.

“They were the only flowers I could find in such short notice” he says, glaring at the flowers as if they had suddenly betrayed his confidence in some way “I can get new ones, if you want? There’s a florist not two streets away from the _Golden Mermaid-”_

“I like them” Credence hurries to assure him. Despite their lethality they are beautiful flowers, if a bit unconventional “Let me just put them on water” he adds, easily taking the flowers from Percival’s hand and dropping them into the water pitcher he keeps in his room in case he gets thirsty during the night. He tactfully does not mention the flowers poisonous nature, the charm he has seen Queenie use to conjure roses out of thin air, or Mrs. Graves’ inevitable lecture once she finds out Percival has uprooted half the plants in her private garden.

With the flowers out of his hands, Percival looks unmoored, the passion and confidence that had seemed to drive him back to the room vanishing in an instant. He wipes a hand repeatedly over his trousers, as he shifts his weight from one leg to another, his gaze still focused on Credence with unwavering intensity.

“Credence...” he starts, his voice coming out worryingly hoarse. He stops, throat bobbing as he visibly swallows, and his eyes, dark and beseeching, stay fixed on Credence’s own.

Credence takes a halting step forward, lost in the inescapable pull of Percival’s gaze. His heart beats loudly, almost painfully, against his ribcage, and he can feel his magic thrumming, wild and powerful, under his skin. It is as if he is walking underwater, his movements slow and sluggish, external sounds muted, but for the white noise between his ears. He barely registers Percival’s hand coming up to caress his cheek, his fingers deliciously rough against his warm, flushed skin.

“Credence” Percival repeats, voice nothing more than an imploring whisper. They are close enough that Credence can feel his warm breath over his own mouth. His eyelids flutter closed, his own mouth opening in a silent gasp, as he gives in to the pull and leans forward.

“Yes” he absentmindedly says, a foregone answer to an unvoiced question.

The first touch is light, delicate, a barely-there caress. Percival’s lips are chapped, and warm, and perfect. Credence whines softly in the back of his throat when they pull away after the briefest contact, but he does not need to wait long. The second touch lingers, no longer a hesitating question, but a true kiss, lips firm, hungry, moving with determined purpose over Credence’s own. He quickly lets his mouth fall open, arms coming up to hang at Percival’s shoulders, hands anchoring themselves at the back of his neck, his fingers scratching against the short hairs there for leverage. He uses his grip to push himself closer, months of longing fueling the fire in his veins, the desperate need for more contact.

He hears the clatter of the cane falling the floor seconds before Percival winds a strong arm around his waist, pulling him firmly against his chest, the other, which had still been caressing his cheek, moves back to grasp at his hair. Percival’s lips are hot and demanding, his skilled tongue swiping inside Credence’s mouth in an intimate caress that turns his knees to jelly and brings out a loud, trembling moan from somewhere around his chest.

“Merlin, I love you” Percival breathes against his mouth, words half slurred in between heavy pants, before leaning in again, without giving Credence a chance to answer. All the best, really, since his brain has just screeched to a stuttering halt, leaving him unable to do anything but cling closer to Percival and moan in pleasure when he slowly teases his tongue over his bruised lips. Thankfully, Percival does not seem to mind his lack of articulated response, and lets his hand fall down Credence's back to grab at his ass, squishing the soft flesh, and drawing him closer until they are stuck together from mouth, to chest, to groin, in one impossibly hot line.

Credence tears his mouth away from Percival, panting for air. The hand in his hair tightens slightly, urging him to bare his throat, as Percival kisses a wet, warm, trail from his mouth to his neck “Yes” Credence gasps brokenly “Yes. Percival” he nonsensically repeats. His head is floating in a cloud of happiness, as his heart swells to thrice its size, and heat pools in his groin. He has been dreaming and fantasising about this moment for practically as long as he has known Percival. He kind of expected all that imagining would have prepared him better for the real thing, and yet his brain has completely switched off, and he is left with nothing but his most basic instincts and a desperate need to get as close to Percival as possible.

Still, he cannot bring himself to care too much about his appalling lack of  restraint and capacity for higher thinking, when Percival’s leg seems to give out from under him and they both end up tumbling down on the bed, knocking over the clothes piled there so they spill unto the floor.

“Fuck” Percival bites out next to Credence's ear, as he ineffectually tries to raise himself up on his forearms. The movement causes his thigh to press, hot and firm with muscle, against Credence’s cock.

Credence instinctively lifts his hips up, his own thigh brushing against the matching bulge in Percival’s pants, as he whines keenly in the back of his throat. A soft, popping sound, punctuates his whimper, and suddenly both of them are covered in a mist of downy, white feathers.

“The fucking pillows just exploded” Percival says, finally raising himself on one elbow and looking down at Credence, an eyebrow raised in enquiry.

“It happens?” Credence answers in a daze, he is surprised by how rough his own voice sounds. He blinks up at Percival, who just stares at him looking puzzled. Credence wishes he would stop worrying about the damn pillows and focus back on the previous proceedings. He raises his hips to make his point “Magic” he explains, stretching his neck to brush his lips against Percival’s “I’m a bit out of control lately”

Percival makes no move to respond, still staring down at Credence, his pupils so dilated that nothing but a thin ring of brown remains around them “Oh” he says, sounding pleasantly surprised.

If Credence were less distracted, he would worry more about the implications of MACUSA’s Director of Magical Security getting turned on by uncontrolled displays of wild magic. As it stands now, he just rolls his hips suggestively, winding one arm around Percival’s neck to drag him back down where he can put his mouth to better use than gaping unattractively at him.

(That is partially a lie, the gaping is very attractive, unfairly so, but it still does not beat kissing, as far as Credence is concerned)

Percival goes down easily, assaulting Credence’s mouth with renewed enthusiasm, and grinding down his hips in slow, circular motions.

Credence clings to Percival’s back, overwhelmed, his own hips moving in small thrusts to match Percival’s movements. It feels both familiar and different from all the other times. He recognises the motions easily enough, the delicious drag of Percival’s hips, his solid weight pressing him down on the bed, his hand slipping under Credence’s loose shirt to caress bare skin, and the hot, wet, press of his lips on his mouth, and down his neck. He has danced this dance with Percival many times, and yet, even if he is still able to identify the steps, it feels unlike anything he has experienced before. There is passion in Percival’s movements, a hunger, that had previously never been there. He kisses Credence like it is the last chance he will have to do so, drags the palms of his hands, fingers splayed open, all over his skin, caressing, and clutching at, every inch of it he can reach. He has alway been an attentive lover, made sure Credence reached his completion every time, but today he has him panting for breath, overcome with pleasure, as sensitive and responsive as an open nerve.

His shirt is suddenly torn open, buttons flying everywhere, and scattering on the floor. Credence gasps, eyes snapping open, as the cold air of the room touches his sweaty skin.

“It’s alright” Percival whispers in his ear, rubbing his hand in large circles over Credence’s side, his thumb lightly bushing over the hard nub of his nipple “I’ve got you”

Credence lets his head fall back on the mattress, dazedly noticing the feathers from the exploded pillows floating, suspended, in the air above him. They seem to rise and fall with his every breath, twirling in place at Credence’s loud moan when Percival starts kissing a wet trail down his chest. He immediately grasps the back of his head, messing up the last remains of Percival’s slicked do, and dragging him back up to his nippples, now achingly hard after Percival’s touch.

Percival lets himself be dragged, chuckling warmly at Credence’s uncoordinated and demanding directions, and promptly catches one nipple between his teeth, pulling lightly, before releasing it and sucking it into his mouth, tongue teasing in close circles, as his stubble scratches the sensitive area around it, making Credence arch his back and whimper.

A subtle nudge has Percival obligingly switching his attention to the other nipple, dispensing it the same attentive treatment, before resuming his previous journey down Credence’s chest, his tongue burning a messy, wet, trail down his belly until it reaches the waistband of his pants. Credence barely has time to raise himself on his elbows, ready to help Percival with any clothes removal necessary, when Percival waves a hand and his pants unzip themselves, and get pulled, along with his underwear, down his legs and into the floor in one fluid motion. Credence is duly impressed.

“Is this okay?” Percival asks looking up at him, from where he is hovering, centimeters away from Credence’s hard length.

Credence stares at him, hoping to communicate the absurdity of that question when Percival is seconds away from getting properly reacquainted with his cock, and Credence has been humping his leg quite enthusiastically for the last few minutes, but he only gets an inquisitive raised eyebrow in response.

He opens his mouth, exasperated, to thank Percival for his pointlessly galant concern and urge him to get on with it, but Percival chooses that moment to press a delicate kiss to his inner thigh, and he ends up gurgling something incomprehensible, but unmistakably enthusiastic. Thankfully that seems to be sufficient encouragement for Percival to lick the underside of his cock, from the root to the tip, in one long, messy stripe, before enthusiastically swallowing him down, using his hand to stroke where his lips cannot reach.

Credence lets himself fall back on the mattress, head lolling lazily as pleasure builds inside him. His loud, panting breath echoes loudly in the room, upset only by the wet, obscene sounds Percival is making. He feels his toes curl in pleasure, as Percival swirls his tongue around the head, teasing the slit and causing a flash of hot, white bliss to course up Credence's spine. He throws one leg over Percival’s shoulder in response, using it as leverage as his back arches off the bed.

“Per- ah! Percy! Percy! Perciiivaaaal” Credence moans brokenly. He feels himself getting close, and closer, to the edge, breath coming out in shuddering, hurried gasps, as white feathers swirl wildly over his head.

Percival’s pace is unrelenting, and it is not long before the warmth of his mouth, and the skill of his tongue, have Credence spilling his release. The orgasm sweeps through him like a wave, making his whole body feel alight with pleasure for a few delicious seconds, before ebbing away slowly, small bursts of bliss coursing intermittently through his limbs.

Credence lays panting, taking on big mouthfuls of air, as he tries to regain his bearings. He feels both light as a feather and heavier than lead, his whole body sinking into the mattress as his heart soars somewhere  high above the clouds. He feels, more than sees, Percival sliding back up the bed, lavishing lazy, open-mouthed kisses on Credence’s sweaty body on his way. He shudders when Percival reaches his neck and bites softly into it.

He slowly opens his eyes to find Percival staring down at him. His hair is completely mussed up, falling in loose strands across his forehead, and his lips are blood red, wet with saliva and Credence’s own spent. If he had not just finished, Credence believes he could just come from that sight.

“I love you” he blurts out, his brain too fuzzy and sated to properly filter anything. Not that it matters, seeing as Percival simply smiles brightly back at him in response, before leaning in to whisper the same words against Credence’s lips.

He lets himself be kissed, opening his mouth, and letting his tongue tangle, lazily, with Percival’s. He is so distracted by both the kiss and his own afterglow, that it takes him a few moments to notice the hard bulge pressing in short, aborted thrusts, against his side, and remember Percival had not finished himself.

He reaches down, not breaking the kiss, until he can cup his hand over Percival’s length, where it strains against his trousers. He runs his hand over it, massaging the warm, hard flesh over the clothing, and making Percival moan brokenly against his mouth.

“Credence…” Percival gasps, stopping Credence’s hand, even as his hips twitch minutely into it “You don- ah! You don’t need to-”

“I want to” Credence says, batting his hand away and kissing any other protests right out of his mouth. He has always enjoyed bringing Percival off, seeing the way his eyes roll back in pleasure, and his mouth goes slack as he moans appreciatively. He looks unguarded and strangely vulnerable, and Credence has always loved having the privilege to see him like this. There is something heady about being able to reduce such a powerful, composed man, to his most basic instincts. Once Credence manages to unzip Percival’s pants, and get a hand around his hard length, it does not take more than a few strokes to bring him, gasping and trembling, to completion.

Percival slumps backwards after spilling all over Credence’s hand, his chest raising heavily as he pants for breath, and Credence shyly presses a soft kiss over the birthmarks on his cheek, surreptitiously inching closer so that most of his body is touching Percival’s. He is pleasantly delighted when Percival throws an arm across his shoulders, pulling him in until Credence is half lying on top of him, allowing Percival to properly kiss him in the mouth without needing to twist his head in awkward positions.

Credence melts into the kiss, enjoying the comfortable, relaxed, intimacy of it. It is an unhurried kiss, not driven by long-repressed desires, or lustful urgency, but the simple enjoyment of being close to each other. Percival’s hand draws lazy circles on Credence’s bare back, leaving a soft trail of goosebumps in its wake, and the cloud of white feathers swirls indolently above their heads. Credence hums in contentment, drawing abstract patterns with his hand on Percival’s chest and messing up the short, bristle hairs there. He cannot possible imagine a more perfect and happy moment in his whole life.

“Credence-” Percival starts, and  is immediately cut short by a kiss. Credence is not yet ready for this perfect moment to end and Percival, as much as he loves him, seems to have a knack for raining on his parade every time he opens his mouth to have one of his ‘talks’.

Sadly for him, Percival is not easily discouraged and, after indulging him for a while, purposely turns his head away and holds him back with a hand on his chest “Credence” he repeats, his voice more serious now, with the foreboding eyebrows to match.

Credence audibly sighs, but relents in his kissing attempts and lays on his side, head resting on his right hand, as he continues to caress Percival’s chest with his left.

“We need to talk” Percival says, and Credence cannot stop his face from expressing how terrible he finds that idea. Percival draws his hand up to softly stroke through his hair, but still continues, undeterred “I want to make sure, this… We need to agree what this is”

Credence frowns at him, his hand stilling in its motions. The feathers suddenly still in their swirling, floating motionless above them.

“What this is” Credence not so much asks, as states.

Percival flinches at the obvious dryness of his tone, and furrows his brows, as he visibly struggles to amend himself “Us. Our relationship. I want to make sure we are on the same page”

Credence stares silently at him, disbelief clear in his eyes. As far as he is concerned, he has been firmly stuck in the same damn page since this mess of a relationship started, Percival is the one who has been flitting back and forth as easily as if he were browsing the newspaper.

“Ugh, I’m terrible at this” Percival complaints, closing his eyes in frustration and pinching his brow. Credence silently agrees. Emotional talk is definitely not one of his fortes, which is why he was all for foregoing the inevitably painful moment and focusing on more pleasant endeavours. Like kissing. Percival is much better at that.

“I wanted to do this properly” Percival says, waving a hand in a beckoning motion “but I seem incapable of making any sense whatsoever, so. Here” he says presenting Credence with the item he has just summoned over.

It is a black box. A small, plain looking black box. Credence eyes Percival warily as he hesitantly reaches for it. Percival smiles at him, doing his best to look encouraging, despite the obvious tenseness at the edges of his lips and the nervous crease on his brows.

Credence keeps his eyes on him, squinting in suspicion, as he pops the lid open. When he finally looks down, his breath momentarily catches on his throat, coming out in a strangled, high-pitched wheeze afterwards.

The box contains a ring. A gold, elegant ring, with a single, shimmering dark stone mounted on top, nestled proudly in soft-looking folds of velvet. Credence reaches a hesitant finger towards it, shuddering as he lightly touches the smooth surface. Words stick in his throat, as his eyes start burning. He blinks furiously, lips trembling, as he tries to get his thoughts in order to try and come up with an adequate response. His brain seems to be filled with nothing but static.

“It’s a ring” he finally whispers, looking askance at Percival from under suspiciously wet eyelashes.

Percival nods, his smile still flitting nervously around the edges “I know I already gave you one, for the… charade,” he awkwardly explains, the tips of his ears going an endearing shade of red and his eyes skittering nervously across the room, shyly avoiding meeting Credence’s  “but I thought I ought to get you a new one, a proper one, if we were to, uh, well… if we were to give it a go, for real. That is, if you want…”

Credence nods enthusiastically, throat too tight with emotion and eyes blurry from gathered, unshed tears. He clutches the ring to his chest.

“I know this is not what you initially signed up for,” Percival continues, still avoiding Credence’s gaze and sounding increasingly distressed “all the media, and the politics, and my work - Grindelwald may be the worst of the lot, but he is far from the only psycho I’ll ever have to deal with. Then there’s also my family, although they do seem to-”

“Shut up” Credence croaks out, haphazardly covering Percival’s mouth with his hand, as he blinks furiously to clear the tears from his eyes “You’re ruining the moment” Marriage proposals are supposed to be about love and hope for the future. He is determined not to let Percival ruin his with fatalistic predictions.

He can feel Percival’s smile widen under his hand, his eyes crinkling at the corners in that way that never fails to make Credence’s knees go weak. He returns a watery smile of his own, and lets himself be pulled down until their are so close their noses are touching.

“Is that a yes?” Percival asks, voice serious, despite the amused smile on his lips.

“Of course it’s a yes” Credence replies, _you oblivious Idiot_ left unsaid, yet still heavily implied “It’s always been yes” he adds, leaning in the remaining inches separating them and kissing the smile off Percival’s lips.

They do not leave the room until well into the afternoon.

 

***

 

Sitting down at the family table for dinner, Credence smiling, warm and happy, at his side, completely entranced with his new ring, Percival feels a brief moment of hesitation. While Tristan and Nim may be none the wiser about the nature of his relationship with Credence, both his parents and the Goldsteins are quite aware of the less than flattering aspects of it.

It is time he put rumors and speculation to bed once and for all.

“Credence and I have an announcement to make” he declares, just as he finishes sitting down, laying a reassuring hand on Credence’s thigh for support. He takes a deep breath “We have decided to postpone our wedding”

Tina gasps audibly, her grip on her knife tightening as she glares at him across the table. Next to her, Queenie lays a calming hand on top of hers, as she winks saucily at Percival, no doubt having already figured out the whole story from both his and Credence's thoughts. Nim and Tristan eye him speculatively, while Mamá and Papá send him twin looks of outrage.

“Postpone the wedding!” Mamá exclaims.

“I already booked The Plaza!” Papá scolds him, as if Percival had been the one to ask him to spend ridiculous amounts of money on an overpriced venue in the first place.

“We are postponing the wedding” he repeats, scowling back at his parents, and sending what he hopes is a reassuring look at Tina. She glares at him, ignoring her sister’s highly amused giggles. Percival clears his throat, squeezing Credence’s thigh, before continuing “With the elections, and Grindelwald, and the destruction of the Manor, we thought it best to reset the date to September. It gives us more time for preparation, and-”

“You’re getting _married!?”_ Tina screeches, dropping her knife in surprise, letting it clatter loudly against her plate. Queenie’s face looks so red it is almost about to burst from containing her laughter.

Percival glares at Tina “Yes, Tina, we are getting married” he challenges her. While he appreciates her concern for Credence, he wishes she would have made her thoughts known on a more private setting than in front of his whole family.

“I thought that was usually the foregone conclusion when two people become engaged...?” Mr. Scamander murmurs next to her.

“I- yes, I know that, Newt” Tina scolds him, looking fond, despite her obvious distress “I thought you were going for a long engagement…” she amends, looking questioningly at Percival.

He sighs, unable to stay angry at her despite her complete lack of subtlety “We were, originally. I guess, the whole affair with Grindelwald helped me realise the importance of going after what you want when you have the chance” he explains looking at Credence, who quickly smiles back, lips curling at the corners. He cannot contain his own returning smile. Merlin, he had been so blind for so long, and so close to losing him.

“I see...” he hears Tina murmur.

“I’m so happy for you two” Mamá says, voice heavy with emotion. Percival looks up to find her staring at him with tears brimming in her eyes.

“I’ll re-book The Plaza” Papá adds, looking just as sentimental. Percival starts to feel a bit choked up himself.

That is until he catches sight of a small, rodent-like creature curling up to Credence, and intently sniffing out the ring on his finger.

“What’s this rat doing at the breakfast table” Percival bites out, grabbing it by the neck and pulling it away from the very expensive ring he just spent a week looking for.

“It’s a niffler” sniffs Mr. Scamander, sounding even snottier than Theseus had ever managed.

“Illegal is what it is” Percival replies. He squints at Mr. Scamander “Seraphina did mention your case of illicit critters. Please, tell me they are not all roaming wild across my parent’s house”

Mr. Scamander puffs up, affronted on behalf of his creatures, when Tristan cuts in “Just this little fellow, Percy!” he exclaims beckoning the beast over with a couple dragots “It’s quite inoffensive, and incredibly clever. Credence loves it. And you wouldn’t want to upset your dear fiancée so soon after your reunion, would you?”

He turns to look at Credence.

“Just the niffler?” he asks, eyes wide and beseeching. Percival can literally feel his resolve crumble to pieces, unable to do anything that may remove that smile from Credence’s lips. He has already become addicted to it.

“Fine” he says, voice cracking slightly, prompting Nim to snort loudly into her drink. Credence’s thankful smile makes up for his increasing loss of respect and dignity among both subordinates and family members.

“Thinking about it,” Mamá pipes up “it’s a good thing that you delayed the wedding. It gives us more time to go in detail through the preparations. Credence, dear, I believe you still have my Wedding Planning Archive, don’t you? We could start looking at flower arrangements tomorrow”

Percival groans loudly. He has many plans for tomorrow, all of them involving Credence, and not a single one including looking at flower arrangements with his mother.

“Or perhaps Percy thinks he can do it better,” she says, turning a mischievous eye on him “What do you think, Percy? Some _Venomous Tentaculas_ , to go with the _Angel’s Trumpetts_ you stole from my Potions Garden?”

Credence chokes on a small laugh, as both Queenie and Nim burst out cackling with laughter. Even Tina lets out a small amused giggle, the traitor. Percival feels a blush creep up the back of his neck to the tip of his ears.

“We’ll look at the flower arrangements, Mamá” he meekly agrees, focusing back into his plate, as Credence drops his head into his shoulder in quiet, yet still very much amused, solidarity.

 

***

 

They get married a sunny Saturday in September of 1927. It is an intimate ceremony, just close friends and family, at the Graves Estate. Credence had been adamant about keeping it small, despite his future Mother-in-Law protests that MACUSA’s Vice-President’s wedding ought to be public, and grand enough to match his new status.

(Poor Mrs. Graves had never stood a chance, as Percival found himself unable to deny Credence anything, and easily acquiesced to each and every one of his faincée’s wishes with a soft smile and a ridiculously besotted look in his eyes.

He would have been more embarrassed about his weakness to deny Credence anything, if Credence’s delighted smile every time he got his way was not the best reward he could ask for)

By the time they finish saying their vows there is not a dry eye in the whole room. Seraphina, standing in as Percival’s Best Woman, does her best to hide it, discretely patting the corner of her eyes with her handkerchief. Queenie and Tina, standing behind Credence, don’t ever bother with pretenses, smiling through the tears, their eyes and noses red, and faces alight with happiness. On the first row, George Piqcuery, Papá and Tristan have been steadily bawling their eyes out since the first notes of the wedding march played through the room.

“Rossalind did warn me about the whole Graves Family being a lot of waterpots” Credence whispers at him, as the wedding officer finishes his grand speech about the enduring power of love.

Percival huffs a small laugh, feeling the sting of happy tears in the back of his own eyes “Look who’s talking” he whispers back, leaning in to kiss him, not bothering to wait for the horrendously verbose wedding officer to give him permission.

Credence laughs against his lips, as Percival bends him over at the waist, deepening the kiss to the catcalls and cheers of their guests. One day, he thinks, he ought to send that reporter from _The Ghost_ a ‘Thank you’ fruit basket, as being caught with Credence has turned out to be the best thing that could have ever happened to him.

 

The End

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And they lived happily ever after.
> 
> Thank you for reading!
> 
> I have two small "Timestamp" one-shots planned for this verse, but they'll be mostly inconsequential to the main story. Right now, I'm going to be focusing on finishing my [Firefly!AU](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11412087/chapters/25564065), and my Halloween trick or treat one (which I still have to actually start writing).
> 
> As always, comments are greatly, deeply appreciated (like, really, I'm a slut for them). Thank you all!


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